


Not to Disappear

by orphan_account



Series: Family is an F-Word [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Angst, Assassination Attempt(s), Bad Parent Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius, Bad Parenting, Byleth looks like Jeralt kinda, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, Communication Failure, Dimilix is minor and just now surfacing in chapter 8, Emotional instability is a bitch, False Accusations, Felix Hugo Fraldarius Cares Too Much- The Adventure, Felix Hugo Fraldarius isn't as Much of an Asshole, Felix doesn't call anyone animals, Felix is coded autistic and you can pry that from my cold dead hands, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions/Golden Deer Joint Route, Fix-It, Flayn is Manuela's apprentice, Found Family, Gen, Good Parent Jeralt Reus Eisner, Grief/Mourning, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, I fucked around with Byleth's lore, I'm so sorry there's so many tags, Jeralt/Seteth minor starting at chapter 10, Minor Character Death, No idea where this is going ship-wise we're on this ride together famsquad, Non-Binary Byleth, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Political Intrigue, Post Tragedy of Duscur (Fire Emblem), Pre-Canon, Reasonable Parent Seteth, Reunions, Rhea's a villain, Teenage Drama, Unreliable Narrator, also no worries we Will get some wlw content in here I have PLANS okay, for a bit, letter montage, no beta we die like Glenn, we've hit game proper y'all, you can tell I'm pissed about his writing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-02-22 18:17:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 41,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22187710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: If you told Felix he was going to be someone's first friend, a royal retainer in a foreign country, and grow wildly protective of everyone around him after his older brother died, he would have told you your jokes sucked and to shut up. But for people with monikers like "Ashen Demon", "Blade Breaker", and "Schemer", he's both baffled and happy to say he'd be an angry sack of shit without them in his life.---This started as an idea for a tandem character study of Byleth and fix-it of Felix's atrocious writing and then promptly spun out into this monstrosity of an AU
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Claude von Riegan, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Dedue Molinaro, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & My Unit | Byleth, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Petra Macneary, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius, Flayn & My Unit | Byleth, Hilda Valentine Goneril & Claude von Riegan, Jeralt Reus Eisner & Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Jeralt Reus Eisner & My Unit | Byleth, Jeralt Reus Eisner/Seteth, Marianne von Edmund & Felix Hugo Fraldarius, My Unit | Byleth & Claude von Riegan, My Unit | Byleth & Sothis, Nader & Claude von Riegan, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Petra Macneary & Claude von Riegan
Series: Family is an F-Word [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1648333
Comments: 148
Kudos: 176





	1. Smother

**Author's Note:**

> Hi welcome to "I am so upset about Felix's characterization" the fic... Also Rodrigue being there for Dimitri doesn't make him neglecting Felix okay and I will not be convinced otherwise. Anyways. I hope y'all enjoy this. Also forgive me if it's a bit clunky in places, I write a lot but almost never for other people, so if anyone wants to uhhhhh Betaread for me, I'd be really grateful.
> 
> Fic title is the title of an album by Daughter, and will probably make more sense as things progress. Chapter title is from a song by the same band.
> 
> First two chapters will be short because I'm setting up the characters but that means they'll update sooner so like. Yeet.

Felix Hugo Fraldarius is, in a word, intense. He feels things intensely. Does things intensely. Processes the world intensely. Honestly, it’s no wonder he’d been prone to tears and fits of anger even when he was “too old” for such things. It could be good at times. He was never lacking in motivation the the things he cared about, certainly. He was also always very receptive to the people around him, which made for strong bonds with his friends and family.

Well, he thought they were strong bonds, but he hasn’t been so sure of that since that letter came. What was supposed to be a diplomatic trip to Duscur turned into a bloodbath, only Dimitri and a Duscur boy named Dedue walked away with their lives.

Here was where all that intensity was bad. He’d been known to lash out when frustrated before, of course, but at thirteen and grief-ridden? He knew he wasn’t exactly a ray of sunshine. He didn’t think he was expected to be when trying to mourn the death of his family, and other people he knew, and being worried about his friends.

He thought wrong, apparently. It was considered rude to not see a silver lining to his older brother being dead. He was told it was insensitive to say that he died for Dimitri because he loved him like a brother, instead of for the lofty ideals of chivalry and being a good knight. On some hypothetical list of unacceptable behaviors was “telling an adult that the boy you love almost as much as life itself isn’t okay and needs help to cope with what happened to him even if he is still smiling and acting like nothing happened”.

Felix finds himself alone in the Fraldarius estate a lot these days. Banished from seeing Dimitri until he learned to “be supportive” of him. The hired help was around, sure, but he wasn’t stupid enough to think they were his friends and to seek out comfort from them. They weren’t paid to be his therapists (which he was denied alongside Dimitri). So he continues to train, though it feels as hollow as Dimitri’s smile without Glenn around. Being by himself isn’t so bad, it means Sylvain’s probably making sure Ingrid’s not totally self-destructing, and he doesn’t have to listen to his father’s attempts to force him to see some stupid silver-lining to the Tragedy.

That doesn’t mean Felix isn’t constantly set to a low simmer of anger. He couldn’t understand why is was wrong to beg someone, anyone, to help Dimitri, to see what he saw and keep him from silently falling apart. He hated that in the face of his struggle to be heard, it was seemingly fine for his father to leave him in a big, near-silent house for months in order to dote on another child entirely. Damn their social standings, damn the loss of Dimitri’s parents, why was Felix unreasonable when he just wants to keep what remained of his world from sinking like a rock, and everyone else has seemed to have just left him to his own devices? Didn’t he need support, too? Isn’t he entitled to mourn? Why is it bad that he’s concerned for Dimitri’s wellbeing?

He doesn’t know. All he knows is that nothing makes the physical ache of his emotions die down. As it is, he spends the time before he falls asleep wishing for the days when he’d get to curl up beside Dimitri after a tearful day and be held, or have his hair ruffled by Glenn and had things put into words he could understand, or laugh things off with Sylvain. He’d even take one of Ingrid’s lectures if it meant she was well enough to chew him out for his table manners.

But that won’t happen, and he wakes up from those dreams feeling scraped out from the inside with a spoon. He kind of regrets that that’s how he greets his father when he comes home with a living legend in tow.

Jeralt Eisner, the Blade Breaker, is a mountain both physically and in reputation. He has a shadow, not much smaller than him but clearly younger. They have the man’s eyes, though they’re flat and blank like the rest of their face. They stand still as a statue, tuned in to the adult’s conversation that Felix is mostly ignoring. Felix doesn’t like them, it doesn’t seem natural to be that still, and their blank expression reminds him of Dimitri’s empty smile.

Once again, Felix’s feelings don’t seem to matter. He gets a lecture about being a good host. Byleth, Jeralt’s shadow, will be staying with him while the adults go off and deal with more of the aftermath of the Tragedy, and Felix is expected to look after them while they settle in. He keeps his mouth shut through the whole “conversation” over dinner, forcing his food down even though his appetite is firmly out the window. It feels like swallowing sand. He doesn’t want to hang out with them, doesn’t want to be nice to a stranger in his home while he’s left to fester in his own feelings.

He leaves when his father insists he “use his words”. He doesn’t have anything to say that wouldn’t end in an argument, and he doesn’t have the energy for it tonight, not if he has to pool it for later to spend on Byleth.

Intense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [YouTuber voice] hit that like button and comment below. Also I'm serious please gods someone betaread for me.
> 
> Also about that one tag: "Felix doesn't call anyone animals". It's obviously kinda fucked up for him to call Dedue a dog, and I'm just... not going to fuck with that as a biracial person. Also as someone who struggles with my own psychosis, him calling Dimitri a beast and a boar bugs the shit out of me, so I'm also just not going to deal with it, much less go into detail on it. I know it's kind of a Big Thing for him in the game but like I said, it just fucks with me and is actually a big part of the reason I'm doing this whole fix-it story.
> 
> Lastly: I hope to update regularly. Depending on my work schedule and such, I could update as often as twice a week and (hopefully) as infrequently as once every other week. I'd like to at Least get two chapters out every month. Just bear with me y'all.


	2. Made of Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth can feel something's wrong here, and they're determined to not sit idle while her father and their merc troupe is busy.  
> \---  
>  _What if I'm made of stone?  
>  Feeling is not a system  
> Nervous I’m caught in a hold  
> Hoping I'm over thinking_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter went from "setting up Byleth" to "Byleth knows how to move the plot along when Felix is stuck in his own head" so we'll see how the pacing for the rest of the story goes huh Gamers.......
> 
> Chapter title and lyrics in summary from a song by Daughter again because I am not clever nor am I subtle.

Byleth Eisner was, in a word, subdued. They can’t remember a time where they’d cried, shouted, or laughed. They had a reputation for having no emotions at all, but that wasn’t quite right. It just felt like they felt things very vaguely, or at least like nothing could provoke a particularly strong reaction from them one way or the other. They didn’t mind it, really. It made focusing on the more practical facets of life easier at times, and they could (almost) always tell (almost) any concerned parties they were okay, because it was (usually) true. Not feeling much also made the adverse effects of their general lack of expression easier to deal with. Father was always more upset than they were over their reputation. In fact, that’s why he’d even taken this fairly high-profile job in the Kingdom at all. He’d help round up the influx of bandits and keep outlying villages safe, and Byleth would stay safely tucked away in the Fraldarius estate with Lord Rodrigue’s son, Felix. Not due to any lack of skill or physical danger, though.

Byleth knew this, because even though they didn’t experience emotions overly much, they had a knack for picking up on other people’s, that there was more to them being hidden away, more to his deal with Rodrigue, but they didn’t bother him about it. He’d tell them, if they really needed to know; and he had told them something. That the Ashen Demon needed to lay low so that Byleth could stop getting odd stares and disturbed whispers thrown about everywhere they went. Byleth is complying because they don’t like Jeralt worrying over them, even if the rumors don’t bother them.

Complying means trying to be amicable with Felix, though, and that seems… Hard. Byleth can tell he doesn’t want to be spending any sort of time with them, much less looking after them while they get a feel for existing in his space. Once they’d seen their fathers off (and Felix had been drawn tense as a bowstring the whole time, which had stuck Byleth as wrong- not just odd) he’d proceeded to stomp off, leaving Byleth to either follow in his unwelcoming wake or be totally lost and have to bother the servants.

They stop his stiff march through the halls halfway through, a small burst of frustration and awkwardness sparking in their chest with the angry silence punctuated by barked fragments of information.

“I don’t think we’ve properly introduced ourselves,” they say, because they haven’t, “my name is Byleth.”

Felix eyes their outstretched hand in distaste, but shakes it out of some forces nobility-trained politeness. “Felix,” he grunts out, “can we get this over with?”

Frustration flares a little brighter; Byleth has never liked rude nobles, and if they have to put up with this for however long their fathers were supposed to work together? They’d have an actual issue the next time their father’s worry sparked. That’s the opposite of what this whole arrangement is for, so Byleth keeps up the conversation, “I’ve heard that Fearghus nobility are trained to fight from an early age. What weapon do you wield?”

Felix glances to the left and slightly behind him, where Byleth always falls into line behind their father, sharp and annoyed, “the sword.”

Oh, common ground. Maybe they can make the time they’ll be spending together bearable with this? “Me too,” they offer, “would you like to train together sometime?”

They come up to a set of double doors and he eyes them warily, but with interest, for a long moment before he shrugs jerkily, “fine. After the tour.”

Byleth can work with this, so they nod, and they go back to their usual quiet countenance as he shows them the library.

\---

If anything, their sparring session makes things worse. Byleth trounces Felix, what with their years of both formal and practical experience on him. It earns them a glimpse of hurt and frustration on his face before he leaves them there in the yard alone wondering what happened. It follows them to bed, and even breakfast the next morning.

The gut feeling that something is wrong with the larger picture of Felix and his poor attitude doesn’t bode well. They’ve always had a… Thing… Where some dreams and any strong gut feelings tended to spell bad news. Acting on those dreams and feelings typically ended up saving someone’s hide, once they’d started telling their father about them. So that’s why they cozy up to the kitchen staff and ask why Felix would be so upset to lose to someone in a sparring match. The answer they get is vague, but telling. Felix’s older brother, Glenn, used to toss him around in the yard like that, and he’d died in the Tragedy of Duscur, which is the indirect cause of their father’s contract with his. He’s been “especially volatile” since the news of the loss came, they said.

Byleth thanks them for sharing and leaves a gold piece on the counter to be polite.

Since this unease was going to hang around, and it seemed they had plenty of time to spend with Felix, they’d take the time for him. This would be a project, and not an easy one, but Jeralt didn’t raise someone who left others to struggle alone.

\---

Byleth doubted being overly direct in offering help to Felix would be a good move, so they endeavored to just… Get caught being themselves. Provide context for Felix outside of their apparent similar skill level to his dead brother. They’d asked around some more after Glenn’s disposition, and came away with the image of a young man who, while callous to a fault, had a great sense of duty and wore his heart on his sleeve for his loved ones. Including and especially Felix. Byleth was no first son of nobility, and they were the emotional opposite of the Fraldarius boys, it seemed, so this shouldn’t be too hard.

Or maybe it would be hard, because Felix was avoiding them. Even when he did catch Byleth in their own element- running through sword forms, studying in the library, cleaning their equipment, helping the servants- he always seemed either grieved or off-put by them.

Coming to the conclusion they were being too passive, they piped up the next time he gave them the look of abject discomfort, “have I done something wrong?”

He jumps a little, clearly not expecting them to speak up. Has he even heard them speak since their sparring match? “What?” he asks, too loud in the silent and empty yard.

“You always look at me like I’ve grown a second head,” Byleth shrugs, rolling their wrist against the weight of their sword, “I was wondering if I’d done something wrong.”

He continues to give them the same look, then his eyes narrow into wary slivers, “no, you haven’t done anything wrong.”

Not enough information. Byleth ups the ante, “then why do you look at me like that? I don’t want to make my host uncomfortable.”

He seems to balk at that, and they think they’ve been too forward, or had miscalculated and ended up guilt-tripping him, with their line of questioning for a moment before he answers, “you don’t move when you stand still. It’s creepy.”

Byleth blinks. Oh, right. They were used to being around their father and his mercs, who had all adjusted to Byleth’s oddities over time. “Right,” they say, if only to fill the silence, “right, of course, I forget that’s not normal. I can’t control it.”

Felix rolls one of his shoulders- his sword arm, Byleth remembers- in a physical tell of his lingering discomfort, “don’t worry about it. I’m not offended.”

Silence reigns again over his bald-faced lie, and eventually Byleth sighs, frustration sparking once more, “spar with me again? Drilling my forms only does so much, and getting rusty means death for mercenaries.”

Felix frowns, “no.”

That passive unease spikes in their gut as he turns away, so they blurt out, “I’ll help you.” They feel their own hackles rise when he stops mid-stride toward the door heading inside, “if you train with me, I’ll help you progress faster. I have experience in battle- a lot of it. It’d be a trade.”

Felix turns his head and looks them over slowly, then takes a deep breath, and nods.

Byleth goes to bed that night with the trepidation stirring inside them subdued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Byleth: I don't want to bother the servants to ask where the kitchen is  
> Also Byleth: something's wrong..... unacceptable........ I'll ask the servants why Felix is sad
> 
> So yeah in case it wasn't clear: Byleth's precursor power to Divine Pulse while Sothis is still dormant is basically a sixth sense for shit hitting the fan. An intuition for Bad Stuff Happening. More little side effects to come to light here soon! I hope you find it as fun and interesting as I've had fun putting details into Nintendo's mythical nonsesne.
> 
> I updated this Super Fast because the first chapter was short so [Sothis voice] you're welcome.
> 
> Also! Chapter count! Expect it to change. I had 9 parts plotted out originally, and the first part has expanded into 3 chapters already, so this could very well turn into a beast. The rating will also change (nothing Explicit) and the graphic depictions of violence warning will become relevant in a couple of chapters (I have really rough drafts of a few going). Tags will update too. So on and so forth. I just hate feeling like I don't have all my bases covered. rip me
> 
> Still open to betareaders! And by "open to" I mean "desperate for". I legitimately have no idea how you find one I'm so sorry.


	3. Nobody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix gets used to Byleth's oddities, opens up. Dimitri breaks.  
> \---  
>  _Venus, planet of love  
>  Was destroyed by global warming  
> Did its people want too much too?  
> Did its people want too much?_
> 
> _And I don't want your pity  
>  I just want somebody near me  
> Guess I'm a coward  
> I just want to feel alright_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whom else in this thread feeling emo?
> 
> Title and lyrics from Mitski this time. This chapter is actually just friendship.jpeg and (I hope) has some feel-good scenes where Felix has positive interactions with people! Hell yeah
> 
> This is the last chapter for the first part. Byleth's gonna carry us through part two next
> 
> Content warning: gore at the end and Felix voms

Byleth isn’t great company. In fact, they’re awful company by most standards. But it’s better than being by himself, so Felix deals with it. Good thing he’s already used to hardly hearing a peep from them, because they don’t seem to be particularly interested in anything. Not even swinging a sword, as good at it as they are. As if that’s not bad enough, their voice really is just that soft. It’s a wonder how people don’t have to constantly strain to hear them. He wonders if they even know how to shout.

That’s not the only thing. They’re still borderline-freakishly still when they’re not actively moving around. Sure, Felix can see their chest rise and fall when they breathe, and they seem to sometimes shuffle around for his sake if he stares at them too hard, but it’s still far from normal. Their face is still blank as fresh parchment, too. Insult to injury? That flat stare always seems to see through him, as evidenced by how they keep butting into his business. If he has to see them tilt their head at him when he gets stuck in his own head one more time, he might punch them.

They seem like a walking contradiction sometimes. Physically strong and yet emotionally bereft. Enigmatic but with little to tell about themselves. Not that Felix asks for trivia facts about Byleth, or anything. Just normal stuff, like their age (“Seventeen or eighteen, I think?” They  _ think?! _ What in the Goddess’ name was  _ that _ supposed to mean?) or if they have hobbies outside of the painfully practical. Even Felix has a skill not completely geared towards battle or being a good Lord to his lands and the people living there. He’d been forced into violin lessons as a boy, and it’d stuck after his initial resistance. Byleth had no such thing. Not even whittling. There was little to nothing to learn about his house guest and they seemed to just pick him apart and get information about him. It wasn’t fair. They knew his favorite color and time of day and that he missed his brother so bad some nights he didn’t sleep, and all he had was that they didn’t like to feel like a burden to the hired help. Obnoxious.

Maybe that’s why he bursts into laughter when he catches them climbing a tree. Finally, some human idiosyncrasy has come out, and it’s only been hidden because they’ve never bothered to go beyond the training yard. The past few months of bafflement have been vindicated in one fell swoop as Felix folds over himself in hysterics.

“Wh- Felix?” Byleth’s voice has taken on some inflection lately, and now is the most he’s ever heard. The note of confusion there makes him laugh harder, and he feels ridiculous, “what’s so funny?”

Felix drags air into his lungs with force, “you!”

He’s lost to his sudden streak of humor again when they just tilt their head (to the left. It goes right when they're concerned, he's noticed) like he’s a difficult concept in the books of magic they like to occupy themselves with, “I… Didn’t tell a joke? Is… Are you laughing because I’m climbing a tree?”

“Yes!” he gasps, forcing himself to settle, “yes, it’s the most normal, weird thing I’ve seen you do.”

“That’s oxymoronic,” they point out.

Felix rolls his eyes, “why are you up there, anyways?” He approaches the base of the tree and looks up at where they’re perched on a branch like a big blue and grey bird, “you bolted over here as soon as you saw the branches in reach.”

Byleth grunts (a habit they’ve picked up from him), like he just reminded them that they had a reason for their antics, and reaches into the branches above them, teetering a bit on the limb swaying beneath their shifting weight. He waits, and is rewarded with…

“A leaf,” he glowers up at them, crosses his arms, “how special.”

They frown a little at him, which is another thing they do now, “I thought I saw the first colorful autumn leaf and wanted to be sure…”

Felix raises his brows, unimpressed by the bit of fire-orange foliage, “do you have some hidden enthusiasm for nature or something?”

Byleth shrugs, “not really, I just like to keep track. It’s useful when you travel a lot.” He steps back as they shuffle forward to drop to the ground again, watches them brush their clothes off, one of his hands on his hip, “and this will be my first northern Fearghus winter. I’m kind of… Excited to see if the rumors of all the snow are true. I think.”

Oh, right. Huh. Felix huffs and heads back into the house without a word, listens to Byleth trail after him. He should probably write his father about making sure Byleth is equipped for the season.

(They never dropped the leaf. He’d find it pressed into their journal years later, and they would tell him, with a warm and affectionate smile, that they’d kept it as a memento of the first time they’d seen him genuinely laugh. This would make him come to a yet-common dilemma where he can’t decide whether to put them in a headlock or hug them.)

\---

Felix has finally come to appreciate Byleth’s company when their fathers return. It’s time to winter over, lest they lose members of the mercenary troupe to the cold they’re not accustomed to here in the north. Which means Rodrigue will be staying in Fraldarius and Bladydd intermittently for a month or so at a time, if he decides to operate like the year prior.

Their return heralds the return of Felix’s sour moods. He no longer eats breakfast or dinner with Byleth and stacks of books or in the training yard, but with his father. Byleth’s time is a hot commodity with their fellow mercenaries back, too, and Felix doesn’t… He doesn’t feel like he has the right to ask to be included, so he’s largely by himself again. It stings, but he doesn’t really have the heart to make himself a thorn in Byleth’s side the way they were when it was just the two of them. This is different. They’re not just two kids in a big house without their parents anymore. They’re a noble heir and the child of that heir’s father’s contracted worker.

It doesn’t really help that he spends all day running from his thoughts, only for them to smack him in the face when he tries to sleep. He’s lonely. He misses Byleth. He’s more worried about how Dimitri is without them to distract him. He doesn’t know what to do with himself with his only company for the past several months busy. Has Ingrid left her room? Is Sylvain still chasing after every girl who will look his way? If Glenn was here to see him and Byleth, what would he think?

“It doesn’t matter,” he hisses into the dark, curled into his heavy blankets and glaring at the far wall, “he’s dead.”

And Byleth would have to leave someday.

That’s the thought that puts him back in the shoes of a little boy who can’t stand to be without his best friend. Embarrassing.

\---

As if sensing that he’d cried for the first time in months (both the new tears and the absence of them thanks to them, ironically), the day following is suddenly filled with Byleth’s attempts to spend time again. Emphasis on attempts, because after the first couple of hours they’re training together like before, Felix notices the subtle, guilty crease between their brows. He doesn’t want their company if it’s because they feel obligated, like they pity him.

“Would you cut it out?” he rounds on them when they wave off an invitation from one of their father’s men in favor of following him to lunch. All that gets is a frown directed at him, however small, and it just stokes his ire further. “I don’t need you hanging around me if you’re just doing it because you feel bad for me.”

Byleth shakes their head, “you have it wrong-”

“Do I?” he interrupts them, rising up on his toes to get in their face, “because it seems an awful lot like you’ve just been using me to bide your time until your own people come back because it’s convenient.” He jabs a finger into their chest, ignoring how a servant scuttles away down the hall at the sight of their altercation, “and I don’t know how you found out I was mad about that, but it’s too late to just double back like nothing happened.”

Byleth’s brow does that little crease again, and their hand wraps around his, keeping him there even though they step back for some space to speak. He doesn’t want to hear it, and something in the back of his head is telling him he’s being irrational, and that it’s showing, but he ignores it because it sounds like his father. He pulls at his hand, but Byleth holds fast as they gather their words.

“You do have it wrong,” they re-affirm themselves, “I- Felix, I’ve never had a friend before. I realized I’d suddenly shut you out because my father pointed out that the… Time I spent talking about you, and all the time we’ve spent together, was disproportionate with how much time I’m spending with you now.”

Felix… Has never heard something that sounds so much like a lie, and yet had to be true, because this is Byleth. Weird, unsettling Byleth who stands too still, can barely move their face, and has spent their entire life on the move to boot. Of course they’ve never had a friend before, when would they have had the time to find someone who would be willing to see past all of that? It’s taken months for Felix to get close with them, and they’ve been spending all their waking hours together.

He deflates, his anger doused, and shuffles uncomfortably as his own guilt settles over his shoulders, “that’s- I didn’t think about that.”

Byleth shrugs, like he hadn’t just chewed them out for no reason other than he’d gotten stuck in his own head. It makes him feel worse, that they can just put it behind them. “It’s alright, I know I’m not… Normal. Just-” they sigh heavily, one of the most expressionate things he’s ever seen them do “- you’re always welcome to join me for anything. Even if I’m with my father, or the troupe, I’ll make room for you. And if you want it to just be the two of us, all you have to do is ask. I promise I’ll always make time for you, Felix.”

That’s… It hits Felix like a bag of cobblestone that Byleth understands him. That even though he was acting like an ass, and his own understanding of his thoughts and feelings were scattered at best, they’d seen and heard him. Not only that, but Felix knows he’s not an easy person to get along with. He never has been. But they’d just let it be, like they cared about him more than his inherent prickliness could ever deter them. Even now, they’re just standing there, waiting for him to gather his thoughts. He’s reminded of Dimitri before the Tragedy, of Sylvain when they were children, of Glenn when he’d get sour over yet another lost match between them, of Ingrid when they’d both be upset and work out their anger together. It makes his chest ache painfully, but… This is Byleth, and they’re so comically different from any of them that it grounds him.

“You’re so weird,” he grouses, for lack of a better response, “your first friend yells at you for not knowing how friendship works and you just forgive him?”

Byleth puffs air out their nose in the ghost of a laugh and lets go of his hand, opens their arms. The image is awkward, but he takes the invitation. He’s hardly had any physical contact since the letter came announcing Glenn’s death, and damn if he doesn’t want the offered silent assurance that they’re on the same page, and the brief fissure between them is healed.

Byleth is cold when he leans into their embrace. Not from outside in the yard, where they were kept warm by their training. Not from being indoors, the servants kept the house cozy. No, hugging Byleth is not unlike being dunked in a bath of room-temperature water. Felix almost recoils, because why are they so cold? Did he neglect to notice they’d gone hypothermic in his anger? Were they just that sensitive to the cold? But Byleth hadn’t shivered at any point, hadn’t mentioned being cold at all. Their pallor was healthy to boot.

Ultimately, he decides to leave it alone, because he doesn’t want to spoil their moment of reconciliation, but the thought occupies him through his father needlessly lecturing him over dinner about being seen yelling at Byleth.

By Sothis, but was anything about them normal?

\---

Sylvain comes with his father when he visits Rodrigue and Jeralt on business. It’s good to see him, but he’s covering his remaining struggle with an amplified version of his usual flirtatiousness. The veneer, at least, if broken by the way he can’t seem to figure out if he wants to make a pass at Byleth or not. Felix laughs at him openly when Byleth deflects a half-cocked pickup line and says “I don’t think we’re quite each other’s types, but thanks, I think” and he just sputters like an idiot.

It snows heavily in true northern Fearghus fashion for the next few days, and Byleth looks as awed as a toddler when the three of them converge after breakfast.

“You weren’t kidding,” their eyes are wide and alight with wonder as they gaze out Felix’s bedroom window while the noble boys pull their warm winter gear on to go out into it.

“Of course not,” Felix snorts, scoops up a sweater, and tosses it at them, “put this on, you’ll freeze.”

They do as asked, but shrug, “I don’t really feel the cold.”

They’ll feel this cold, surely. Felix will laugh at them, too, when they’re huddled up by the fire and shivering, begging him for tea.

Or… He and Sylvain can gape at them when they just plow through a huge bank of fresh powder and don’t even shiver.

At least Felix gets to see them smile- actually smile, a full upturn of their lips- for the first time. He blames the warmth that brings to his chest on how he dismisses all his worry about them being cold in favor of running after them, Sylvain on his heels.

He curses his own carelessness when Byleth stumbles- they never stumble, not unless he gets a lucky hit on them in the yard- looks confused, and then he sees that their fingers and lip shave gone blue. He and Sylvain drag them back inside by force and yell for help. Jeralt comes running while the noblemen follow behind him much slower. They get Byleth to bed, Jeralt keeping Byleth tucked against him protectively and cursing aloud when he feels how cold they are.

“They didn’t even shiver once,” Sylvain frowns as he and Felix grab furs and blankets to pile onto Byleth. Felix can’t even reply verbally, too scared, too upset, and he nods at him.

Sylvain does his best to distract Felix while he’s still visiting, but he still catches snippets from fussing servants that Byleth has ingratiated themselves to. They’re not bouncing back, it’s like they don’t even produce body heat, they still don’t shiver, and their fingers still go blue sometimes.

Felix cracks the night after Sylvain leaves with his father to return to his own territory. His own father leaves as well, returning to Fhirdiad so he can check up on Dimitri. He wakes up from a nightmare of waking up in the morning to find Byleth's chest still under all those blankets, gone. It’s the dead of night, and he just doesn’t care. He goes down the hall to his friend’s room to see them. He has to see they’re alive or he’ll scream, or break something. He can’t be alone again. He can’t lose strange, strong, understanding Byleth like this.

Jeralt is there, looking as tired and haunted as Felix feels. He’s holding one of their hands, methodically working his fingers over theirs, like he can rub some warmth back into his child like that. Felix pauses in the doorway, looks away. It feels like too private a moment to interrupt.

But this is the Blade Breaker, and he notices the teenager who can’t make himself leave, and sighs, “come on in, kid.”

Felix does, shuffling his way over to the bed, keeping his distance until Jeralt turns, looks at him for a long moment, then sighs and opens his free arm out. Felix hesitates, then gives in and lets the man tuck him into his side. It’s silent for a long time, and Felix feels so small, no longer fourteen but instead eight, in the face of Byleth’s days of sleeping and the sheer size of Jeralt beside him.

“You know they’re not normal,” the man says, and he sounds so resigned and defeated that it’s hard to see him as the walking legend he is. He’s just a worried father here, and Felix can see in the line of his face that this topic is something that’s haunted him for a long time. Felix nods, because talking has been laborious since Byleth fell ill. Jeralt considers him for a long moment, and must find whatever he's looking for, because the boy feels the barrel chest beside him heave a mountainous sigh, “the servants are right, they don’t produce any body heat. My child was born without a heartbeat or a pulse.” He eyes Felix side-long, “I don’t think I have to tell you that you shouldn’t let that leave this room.”

Felix shakes his head- he doesn't- and turns his attention back to Byleth, frowning deeply, and manages to say, “I shouldn’t have let them go out without more layers. I knew they ran cold before this.”

Another world-weary sigh, “it’s not your fault, kid. I didn’t think of it, either. I just wish I could come up with some way to fix it.”

Felix nods and falls silent again. It feels odd, to he held in comfort like this, but nice. Nice enough that he doesn’t pull away as his brain churns over ideas to put color back in his friend’s face. It’s when Jeralt pulls away and gets up, telling him to get some sleep, when it hits him over the head. Jeralt leaves, and Felix works up his nerves for a long moment. It’s just a hunch, but he’d heard of hypothermia patients getting better with shared body heat before, living in as cold a climate as he does. And if Byleth couldn’t produce their own normally, then…

Well, Felix would share. He burrows himself under most of the blankets, leaving one between them in case they woke up and took issue with his closeness. It’s colder in the blankets than outside them, and it makes Felix’s anxiety spike in his gut and stay there until he starts feeling the space around them warm with his own shivering.

Byleth wakes him up late the next morning by grumbling and shifting closer. He almost cries from the relief he feels.

\---

Jeralt thanks Felix for helping Byleth recover before he leaves during the thaw between snows, heading south to help with bandits in Galatea territory. Felix just nods, because what does he say to a relieved father’s gratitude? Especially after the man held him like he was his own son?

There’s no real time to dwell on it. Byleth wants to train more after missing days of activity while ill (and didn't Felix feel like a fool, thinking they weren't enthusiastic about their swordsmanship?). They fall back into their typical routine from the last time the two of them were left alone with ease. Felix feels himself settle into it, and he spends a couple of nights consumed with thoughts and feelings about how he feels more like himself alone with Byleth than with anyone else around at this point. He’s not sure if he should worry about his- admittedly fragile- equilibrium hinging on someone else, or be relieved that he has any way to feel stable at all.

It’s different from before, but not profoundly. It’s the little things, like how Byleth emotes just a smidge more, and frequently. How the two of them reach for one another, little touches exchanged every so often; a hand on the shoulder in the yard, a touch to the elbow in the library. The quiet evenings spent in the library or telling stories in one of their rooms beside the hearth. Shared meals spent quietly. It’s easy, and comfortable.

Felix has another nightmare, the same one from when Byleth was sick, and he doesn’t mean to wake them up, but he does. They ask why he’s still so concerned for them, like he’s the weird one for caring about their wellbeing, and his dam breaks. He tells them why he worries about them not shivering, about why he’d been so upset when he’d thought they were just friends with him because they felt bad for him. He’s lost his childhood friends to the Tragedy, his family too. The boy he’d spent his formative years attached to by the hip, practically, was deeply scarred by the Tragedy, had been there when Felix’s brother and his own parents had died for him. How Felix has spent the time since worrying for him when he’s not shouting for someone to see the extent of the damage as he does, to do something about it. How he’s been ignored or outright told he was wrong either about Dimitri, or for pointing out his suffering.

And Byleth holds him, not unlike Jeralt had, and he leans into it because they tell him that it’s all unfair, not only to Felix but to Dimitri, that they believe him. He feels a weight lift off of him like when Byleth had finally thawed out from their snow day.

Byleth tucks him into the bed beside them that night, and tell him that even if they have to leave him to move onto the next job with their father, they’ll never fully leave him alone. They’ll write, they’ll be his confidant. And when they’re old and skilled enough, they’ll happily sell their sword to him alone, if it means he’ll have someone there for him. Not only that, but if he so desired at the time? They would help him help Dimitri.

It’s what he needs to feel like the ground is solid under his feet again.

\---

That stability is thrown to the wind when their fathers return. It’s well after his birthday, (which his father had merely sent a short update letter with an aside to wish Felix well in for. Byleth had roasted a deer hindquarter for him when he’d spent the day agitated.) and his father sits both family duos down for a join meal for the first time. He says that he wants Felix to help Dimitri deal with a group of bandits in Bladydd land, that it will be a test for both of them to see how capable they are as they near adulthood. Felix catches the odd looks Jeralt sends the man, like he’s confused by what he’s doing. Felix’s father returns the looks, like he doesn’t know what Jeralt’s issue is.

“If I may,” Jeralt cuts into Rodrigue’s briefing of the details. “These kids are still pretty young, I’d feel better if my own went with them. Someone with experience should back them up.”

Rodrigue frowns a bit, but ultimately nods, “yes, I suppose that would be ideal.”

Felix doesn’t know how big a boon that is until they’re fighting. It’s a pretty large group of bandits they’re up against, and while Felix doesn’t doubt his father’s judgement- he and Dimitri could have taken these fools. They’re sloppy and disloyal to each other. But Felix can tell Dimitri hasn’t recovered a lick from the Tragedy. If anything, he’s in worse shape than the last time Felix saw him (two years ago… That kind of time stings against memory of being inseparable). Felix’s anxiety is only heightened by how Byleth gets restless, seemingly unable to stand or sit stone-still like usual. It doesn’t help that Dimitri’s been upset the entire time about how Dedue wasn’t allowed to come with them in spite of his capabilities, simply because of him being from Duscur. Felix thinks it’s stupid, because he saw Dedue see them off, and he sees a reflection of his own loyalty to the prince in him, even if it is different.

Felix gets caught in a sword lock, and Dimitri’s princely veneer shatters like glass. The bandit bearing down on Felix is impaled from behind with a shout from the blonde and Felix watches the wound stretch and tear open around the iron head of his spear as the corpse is flipped over the prince’s head, away from Felix and left eviscerated on the ground. He gets a front-row seat to the sound that rips from his (former) best friend’s throat as he descends upon the remaining enemies.

The scene is ugly in the aftermath. It would have turned Felix’s stomach to hear a description, to see a painting of it. But he can smell the blood and viscera, feel his boot slip on the pulled-out entrails of a corpse. He stumbles, catches himself on the ground, rises with bloody hands, and hears Dimitri’s laugh in the center of the carnage.

Felix throws up behind a tree, because he knew people would die. He’d shouldered the weight of the first life he’d taken with his sword and marched on from the beginning of this whole catastrophe. But this wasn’t just dispatching some bandits. This wasn’t a clean execution of the criminals making the civilians here miserable. Byleth is shaking when they find him and drop to their own knees beside where he’s crumpled to empty his stomach. He stares blankly at the open eyes of a head separated from its body and dry heaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "How many times can I use "normal" and "weird" in one go?" I ask myself, knowing full well the answer is "too many times, idiot, use a thesaurus"
> 
> So Byleth's kinda like water in that they take on the temperature of their environment basically. You can't just not have a heart and expect to be warm or able to handle the cold. Also fuck them having a pulse with no heartbeat, that's silly. We make Byleth straddle the line of what makes someone human here. Kiss my ass about it intsys
> 
> Also yes! Jeralt is looking at Felix and how much he cares about Byleth and then looking at Rodrigue and how he interacts with his son and going "how the fuck am I father of the year around here. Goddess help me". He's kinda gambling on Felix being protective enough of Byleth to keep his mouth shut and just look after them in ways Jeralt can't as Byleth grows up and becomes more independent
> 
> Long chapter compared to the last two, a lot more happening, I know. I wanted to focus on characterization before really moving things forward to get a handle on writing Felix and Byleth before slam-dunking them into the thick of the plot. But the story itself has actually started now!
> 
> I hope this was enjoyable y'all. I'll keep trying to reply to comments since they seem to be fueling my soul lately. Still looking for a betareader


	4. Bird Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth may not care for their own reputation, but when it comes to Felix's well-being? Nothing would get in the way of them ensuring he'd come out the other side of this whole mess in one piece.  
> ___  
>  _Well I didn't tell anyone, but a bird flew by.  
>  Saw what I'd done. He set up a nest outside,  
> and he sang about what I'd become._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hello. This chapter didn't want to be written. It's not nearly as long as the last one and that's because I've got too much going on in the ones surrounding it but the stuff in it doesn't really fit in with the others. Not that my plot outline makes it look that way. F
> 
> Anyways! This chapter is just full of Rodrigue being a dumb asshole and Jeralt being like "yeah hey quick question. what the fuck is WRONG with you dude" but like. quietly. Also writing Byleth is weird because they get stuff moving and happening more than Felix does but it's all so cut and dry so a lot of things end up happening in, like, half the words. at least plot-wise. It's kind of hard to make their pov as colorful and, well, full as Felix's because they feel so straight-forward, y'feel? I'll work on it, and it'll get better as they open up more!
> 
> Song title and lyrics from Florence and the Machine. Also yes they're 100% ironic. I think I'm very funny

Byleth was starting to see their father’s point about their Ashen Demon title. It still doesn’t bother them, but they are finally feeling how… Inconvenient it can be.

Dimitri, who had broken down (not dissimilarly to Felix) once he’d come down from his battle-high and seen all the blood on his hands, has been cordoned away. Regardless of the time spent attempting to soothe him, or his and Felix’s attempts to shift the blame from them, the King Regent has deemed them a threat to him. The fault for the carnage on the mission has fallen firmly on their shoulders, and for once they feel the weight of it.

Not that they would wish it on another. So when Felix’s fragile composure shatters and he starts to truly rail against the immovable assumptions of the knights who had checked their work, they stop him. These people have been spending how long ignoring the disaster brewing under their prince’s skin for how long? They weren’t going to just change tack on it now, not when the famous Blade Braker’s infamous child is such a convenient scapegoat. Besides, they’re used to the looks, the harsh treatment.

Distantly, they are aware that it isn’t right, but they know it’s the lesser of two evils when their own father doesn’t move to correct the record; he must see how futile it is to try if they won’t even listen to the surviving son of their beloved Shield. They put a hand on Felix’s elbow as he takes a deep, rattling breath to waste it on ears that did not want to listen, and say, “I apologise for my actions, it would seem that my mercenary upbringing caused me to forget mercy in the heat of the moment.” They lie easily, because it’s not like they’re going to give some accidental tell, “I was so focused on the age and level of experience of my companions that I became rather… Protective.”

Felix looks at them like he hates them for saying it, but they just want this whole situation to be over, for them all to move on from this so that Felix can calm down again. Dealing with false accusations and the burden of their title is the lesser of several evils, they’re certain. Even as the room dissolves into contemptuous murmuring and they are told off for getting carried away, that there is no excuse for such mutilation. They bow deep, apologize with as much outward (false, and if they were capable of such intense emotions, hateful) sincerity as they can muster, and they pull Felix from the room, feeling secure in the knowledge that their father will smooth things out as much as they can be. As is their morbid family ritual in these sorts of situations.

“Why in the Goddess’ name did you  _ do _ that?” Felix spits at them once they’re in his guest room of the royal palace. It smells musty from disuse, and the decor and feel of it is shockingly impersonal for the dwelling of the prince’s childhood friend, however temporary it may have been.

Byleth frowns, just a little, “because there’s no swaying them on it.”

“I was still going to-” he starts, but Byleth puts up a hand.

“Do what, Felix? Slip back into the role of the boy crying wolf?” they pinch the bridge of their nose, frustration burning below their lingering upset over the whole mess, “you told me they’ve been ignoring any signs that Dimitri isn’t well for two years. I have a title that allows them to keep doing it, and no amount of anyone telling them the truth was going to convince them I hadn’t done it.”

“And that doesn’t  _ bother you? _ ” he demands, his hands balling up at his sides.

“No,” Byleth answers, stern and truthful, looking their only friend in the eye even as they damn themselves, “I know I’m unsettling, Felix, and people will believe what they want to about someone who struggles to feel and express emotions like myself.” They roll their shoulders in a shrug, like they’re easing off a cloak and not dismissing the judgement of an entire country’s administration, “I’m used to it. It doesn’t matter what they think of me, so long as I can get my jobs done at the end of the day.”

Felix eyes them for a long moment, silent and shaking in all his anger. The injustice of the situation, Byleth can see, is what has really gotten to him. It’s not a fair thing, for certain, but what is Byleth to do? A young merc wreathed in rumors of ruthless violence does not a respectable figure make off the battlefield. Much less in the King’s own court. There’s nothing to be done for it; the officials involved know nothing about them aside from less-than-flattering hearsay. Their minds are made up, and this isn’t Byleth’s first time being condemned in such a way. It hadn’t hurt when they were fifteen and just starting to help their father, and it only upsets them now because it’s distressing Felix.

“It matters to  _ me _ ,” Felix finally spits out, quiet but no less vehement for lack of volume, “especially since they’ll sweep any suspicion of anything being wrong with their perfect little  _ Prince _ under the rug. If there was any in the first place.”

Byleth reaches out, hesitates for a moment, then rests their hand on his arm again, “I know, and I don’t like it either, but as it is, it’s better that I take the fall for this, than you yell yourself blue in the face to people who don’t care what you have to say.” They squeeze his arm and force a little smile for him, “you can at least regroup and come back around to help Dimitri this way.”

Felix curses under his breath and shakes his head, pulling away again. He needs time and space, Byleth knows. He’s frustrated with them, so they go to their own room, and they wait for the outcome of this whole mess to present itself.

\---

Jeralt makes it very clear that Byleth barely escaped rather severe repercussions for the slaughter they didn’t participate in. Typically, knights were put to death for such dishonorable conduct, but seeing as Byleth isn’t a knight, they’d have faced imprisonment and a lengthy trial that would have likely ended in execution, anyways. Fortunately, their father has a way with words and an extensive knowledge of customs and the like all over Fódlan. He may not be a particularly affectionate father, but his love shines through in times such as this.

Byleth isn’t allowed to work in the Kingdom for a year, and for a year after that, they must not be the primary contractor, and kept under close watch by their employers.

Unfortunately, what this means, is that they will have to leave the Kingdom. As a member of Jeralt’s mercenaries, a ban on them means a ban on the company itself. The other mercs rally around them and Jeralt, loyal to their captain and the child they have helped him raise. They won’t work in the Kingdom if one of their own isn’t welcome. It’s heartwarming.

The look on Felix’s face when Rodrigue tells him? Heartbreaking. Byleth had expected repercussions, knew they stood little chance of being able to remain in the Kingdom. Clearly, Felix had hoped otherwise.

The four of them- respective Fraldarius and Eisner father-child duos- sit down for dinner together and Rodrigue tells Felix that Byleth (one of his closest and most trusted friends, they like to believe) will be leaving in two weeks as per their work ban in the Kingdom like he’s reading a supply list.

“Of course,” Felix scoffs in response, like he’s crushing down his panic and disappointment with derision and little else. It doesn’t hide the impact of it becoming a reality instead of a mere assumption; it shows in how he blinks a couple times, abating tears, “did the council mention why?”

Rodrigue frowns, “I know you’ve managed to fill the gap Glenn has left behind with Byleth, but their reputation as the Ashen Demon isn’t… Favorable for the Kingdom at the moment.”

Byleth has never heard something so off-base. They feel anger spark, catch, and flare in their chest, and their head whips to look at their father. He looks just shy of dropping his jaw onto his plate, shock and- was that horror?- color his face. He looks to Byleth, like they have the answer to “is this a  _ fucking joke _ ?”. They shake their head and turn back to the other family in the room. Felix has stood up, red-faced in anger and disbelief.

“I have  _ not _ ,” he grinds out through his teeth, “replaced my dead brother with  _ anyone _ . All I asked was to know why I’m having yet another friend ripped away from me.”

Rodrigue gets this look of pity on his face, but Felix rushes out before he can put it into words. Byleth gets up and follows the younger Fraldarius somewhat blindly, no thought in their head other than that the dread in their gut is back, and it’s twisting their stomach up in knots. They’re not hungry anymore, they’re-

Scared.

\---

It takes hours to get Felix to let them into his room, and even more to bring him off the edge of a full-blown breakdown. He cycles through grief, anger, disbelief, and panic at uneven intervals punctuated by bouts of tense silence. Byleth listens, because it’s the only thing they really know how to do. It seems to work, though, because as Felix rants and carries on, he deflates and eventually just plain tired himself out. Byleth finally, finally, tucks him into his bed when the hour is late, bordering on early.

It’s not hard to find their father after they’ve gotten their own rest. Jeralt is large, and Byleth knows him well. They interrupt his morning drills, and they sit in the cold training yard quietly as they gather exactly what they want to say. They’ve spent the past few hours sleeping fitfully or processing all of the things Felix said the night before; particularly about his life before the Tragedy.

Jeralt beats them to it, “the brat’s your friend. Do you think I should say something to Rodrigue?” He narrows his gaze at a point in the dirt at their feet, his frown turning into a scowl, “I don’t want to make things worse between them, but something about yesterday struck me as wrong.”

Byleth’s anger stirs, turns bitter on their tongue, “I’m not sure he cares about Felix enough to take outside intervention out on him.” They shrug, sigh, frown as well, “he couldn’t calm down until the moon was nearly setting, dad. Someone has to do something; I’m… I’ve been having that feeling about this-” they have a hand around to indicate the situation, the relationship between the Fraldarius “-since we arrived.”

Jeralt hums, strokes his beard, his expression softening into worry, “maybe he’ll listen to a fellow father…”

Byleth hopes so.

\---

Jeralt, in turn, interrupts one of Byleth’s library sojourns after he’s spoken with Rodrigue. Rodrigue has not headed the words of his fellow single parent, then. They’re grateful that Felix isn’t present, even if it’s because he’s been pushing them away the past couple of days. They can’t find it in themselves to blame him.

“That man is a Goddess-damned moron,” their father rumbles, nose wrinkling with disgust.

Byleth nudges a chair out from the table they’re sat at, and he sits with a frustrated huff. Jeralt had- as per their family strategy meeting on the topic- approached from the angle of concern, asking if it was a common point of contention between him and his son, the death of his eldest. It was, he’d responded, and…

“He… _Honestly_ _believes_ that Felix is a failure for refusing to see his brother’s death as honorable, as well as for- what was it again?” Byleth is struggling to process what’s being said.

“For not seeing Dimitri as a higher priority to Rodrigue as the Prince. Not only that, but he is also convinced that Felix only seeks to besmirch Dimitri’s name as revenge for Glenn dying for him in Duscur,” Jeralt repeats, looking drawn and weary. “And, I mean, the kid needs to work on his delivery, but you would think his own father would be able to see through his bluster and know he’s just worried about his friend. Even I can see that, and I’ve talked to the brat, what, five times?”

Byleth nods, snaps the book on magical theory they’d been studying shut and stands to put it back on its shelf, “dad…”

Jeralt meets their eyes, and his pinched expression softens at the worry they know has managed to draw their brows down and inward, “you don’t want to leave him here.”

They don’t. They really, really don’t.

\---

Felix has gone as far as to shut himself in his room when Byleth gives under the weight of their own worry. They’ve tried leaving negotiating with Rodrigue to their own father, but it’s only five days until they must move out, and the anxious rolling of their guts is going to make them throw up soon if they don’t take direct action.

Jeralt’s shining reputation isn’t enough to assure Rodrigue his son will be safe enough with them (not that it’s surprising after the last thing Jeralt convinced him of went as sour as it did). Nor is Byleth’s fraudulent protective streak (and, well, it may well not be entirely false, but definitely not enough to rip the entrails from a corpse). The approach of travel being beneficial to Felix’s future role as Duke Fraldarius hasn’t done the job, either. Which is almost as baffling as the man’s sheer lack of understanding for his own son. Apparently he wants to prepare Felix for his duties to the duchy himself, never mind that he hasn’t taught him a lick about any of it since the Tragedy.

So Byleth is willing to pull out the big sword. To aim below the belt. To have their own excruciating one-on-one with the man for the sake of their only friend.

But not before they have a fuller picture. A third-party perspective that’s seen the family fall apart. They need to know where the weak points are, what leverage they can get. Any card in their hand to sway this situation in a direction that doesn’t lead to near-certain disaster.

The Fraldarius servants are glad to help. Byleth’s made especially good friends with the kitchen staff and the maid that keeps their room neat in the time they’ve spent here. They’ve all been upset to see what’s become of the household. Watching Rodrigue treat Felix like a burden is upsetting to watch. So is seeing how Felix has fallen apart since Glenn’s death. Once a house full of the brothers’ laughter and bickering as they’d grown was now typically quiet, or ringing with Felix’s desperate shouting. It’s far from a favorable work environment, and their only reprieve from the tension has been when Byleth has been here with Felix while Rodrigue has been away.

Byleth drops a few coins here and there, begging favors. A planted comment here, setting Rodrigue up to see them fretting over Felix there, some nostalgic quips sprinkled in. They want to see Felix get better as much as Byleth does, some of them. Given that they’ve been there while he’s grown up? They’re not shocked. Just grateful.

For all his failure to read his son, Rodrigue knows why Byleth has approached him in his study, “I believe I told your father I would think on his proposal.”

They put a lid on the anger that stirs up in them at his blatant dismissal. Are younger people really so disparaged here in Fearghus? They stand up straighter, “I’ve come to raise a new point. Perhaps what I have to say can sweeten the deal?”

He rolls his hand for them to continue.

“Felix has been acting out,” they feel like they’re bending to this man, and it makes them a little sick, “since the Tragedy, yes?”

Rodrigue nods, and they continue, grasping at the spark of intrigue in his eyes, “but he has been doing better with time spent uninvolved with it, yes?”

Another nod, “the servants have said as much, yes.”

Excellent. Byleth goes in for the (proverbial) kill, careful to speak in absolutes, “then perhaps a few years traveling, physically and emotionally removed from everything having to do with the Tragedy, could calm him. His… Issues… With Dimitri would be soothed with time and distance, and he would come back with fresh eyes for the situation. He would also be less fraught over the loss of his older brother, and the Tragedy would seem much smaller to him, if he expanded his world beyond the Kingdom.” They splay out their hands, as though offering him a gift, instead of asking him to hand his son’s well being over to someone his peers have pegged for a violent killer, “what do you say? It would be beneficial for both of you.”

Rodrigue gives the okay the next day. Not that Byleth would have stopped trying had he said no.

Byleth runs to tell Felix and help him pack. Jeralt ruffles their hair like they’re five and barely as tall as his legs are long, instead of nineteen and nearly matching his height. The vice on their stomach releases.

The relief in the house is palpable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Rodrigue seems off, that's kind of on purpose. Felix and Rodrigue's relationship is pretty similar to my own with my father before we fell out. So I wrote him differently so I could actually deal with this whole chapter at all. He's not nearly as "wah my kid hates me and I don't get it even though I've done nothing but ignore or gaslight him" and more "I cannot stand my own child because he isn't exactly what i want him to be and also I'm projecting". Anyways
> 
> And yes, Dimitri is guilt.jpeg over this whole thing. Once he finds out Felix has left he's gonna blame himself a lot and will probably try to set the record straight himself only to experience the same treatment Felix has, only it's more "polite" (read: backhanded) since he's the prince. Thought I should say this since he's not a main character in this (yet). I'll dive into this more when we get closer to the events of canon and even as we get into that stuff too! I'm excited are you excited???
> 
> Jeralt is canonically protective and even if he's only fatherly to Byleth in the game I'm 1000% here for him seeing Any kid being mistreated and just. Stepping in if he thinks it won't make shit worse. His reaction to his suspicion of Rhea doing something to baby Byleth supports this don't @ me
> 
> Lastly: points to whoever can guess at where they're off to!


	5. Down River

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeralt takes Byleth and Felix east into the Alliance to find work while Byleth's banned in the Kingdom. The job they land with isn't at all what any of them were looking for, but it seems to be exactly what they need. Byleth just holds tight to Felix's company and keeps being a supportive ear to him.  
> \---  
>  _Feeling old, feelings this time take you_  
>  _Down river, down river, down river, down_  
>  _Walk these stairs, put the pieces back together_  
>  _Go don't stop, go don't stop, go don't stop now, go_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This and the end notes are a beast (the chapter itself is like a quarter of the fic so far on it's own) and it was all a chore and a half to write out. I've done research and this story's kind of gotten away from me from the start, but now I'm just like.... oh gods I've created a monster for myself. At least it's fun jbkjfgb
> 
> I hope you guys don't mind my tendency to have scenes of heavy dialogue with little to no blocking or scene description in between montages of events or blocks of introspection. I'm not very good at painting a picture of a space or describing people (physically) in interesting ways, but I really like to focus on events and characters and interaction.
> 
> EDIT: did some improvements in how I've been writing about Essen and his family.
> 
> Anyways here we go! Found family time and finally we get to have some of the mercs be people instead of just a group entity! Also expanding on the AU part of this because there's so little out there on Glenn and momma Fraldarius and I may or may not have gone totally feral with artistic liberty here. I hope no one minds Glenn being a softie for Felix because you'll have to pry that from me when I'm dead in my grave.
> 
> And yeah the description and tags have taken a turn for "what the fuck is happening anymore" because while this did totally start out as a character study and reworking Felix, it's animorphed into something else entirely and I am just an unwitting servant to my own creation at this point.
> 
> Quick TW for the scene where Felix is talking about his mom: I go into detail about her death and there's sad stuff about her pegasus there too. I personally think it's a step or two above the scene where Dimitri loses his shit on the kids' mission so just be aware and be careful because I had a hard time writing it like people have a hard time watching the Black Beauty movie, for reference (Marianne isn't the only horse girl around these parts). Skip over it if you need to please!

Byleth is buzzing with excitement. Or, at least, they are in their own way. They spend the last three days in Fraldarius helping Felix pack and talking about what to expect on the road with a bunch of mercs. The company plots a course eastward to the Alliance, since it’s the fastest way out of the Kingdom. They don’t want to risk Byleth being forced to break their no-work order in a road skirmish.

Not even Rodrigue’s send-off can spoil the giddiness in their chest. Felix is tense for a while afterwards, but one of the men starts up a travel ditty to ease the company back into travel. It’s been a long time since they’ve all been properly on the move. Byleth sings along off-key on purpose because they know it pisses the guy off. Felix gives them a look of abject horror and amusement for their trouble.

“Oi,” the song leader- a middle-aged ginger fellow with an axe on his back and a scar over one eye; his name is Simon- says, “what’d I say about goofing on my music?”

“Just because I’m the boss’s brat doesn’t mean I can act like a little shit...” Byleth recites dryly. “But I was singing beautifully. Right, Felix?”

“If you’re defining beautiful as horrendous suddenly, then sure,” Felix shakes his head, a smile fighting to emerge in spite of his tense goodbye to his father a few hours before.

“Listen to the noble boy, you insufferable brat,” Simon points one finger towards Felix, “we all know you can actually sing, anyways.”

Byleth shrugs and Felix snorts as the song starts up again. Byleth does, indeed, join in legitimately this time now that their friend’s mood is lifted a bit.

\---

The speed at which Felix adapts to mercenary life is startling. Even Byleth hadn’t expected him to take to watch shifts as well as he does. Is he grumpy with less sleep? Yes. Does he complain like Simon bets against Jeralt he will? No, and Byleth gets to see their father be openly smug as Simon hands over the silver piece with a scowl. He doesn’t even wrinkle his nose at the road rations, just eats them as neatly as his upbringing demands.

They exit Kingdom territory quickly, and Felix relaxes more the farther they get from the Fraldarius border with the Alliance. Like he’d expected his father to ride out and drag him back screaming. Byleth would have physically fought the man, regardless of their work ban for violence, or how frustrated Jeralt would be with them. Maybe it was overbearing, but all Byleth wanted to do as they got out of the snow and ice and into rolling, muddy grasslands, was to tuck Felix under their cloak like a mother hen.

They don’t, of course. At least, not without reason. The company isn’t so infamous that they scare off any trouble on the roads. Especially not after being contracted and essentially out of sight and mind for about two years. Just as they’re contemplating settling down for the night, Jeralt’s mercenaries get halted by brigands demanding a steep fee to pass through the area and reach the copse of trees they were eyeing as a camp in the distance.

Byleth, much to Felix’s chagrin, shuffles themselves in front of him while their father steps forward as captain to negotiate. Contrary (completely and utterly so) to their reputation as an unfeeling demon of death, their last battle haunts them. This could get very ugly very quickly, and no matter how experienced and skilled their father’s troupe is, they can’t help the need to protect that rises in their throat and threatens to choke them. Not the same as their usual intuitive premonitions of _bad_ , but just them and their sense of responsibility for the friend that they’ve brought into this lifestyle.

“Stay at my back,” they say as the brigand leader’s hackles rise and his men’s hands twitch for their weapons, “we’ll cover each other.”

Felix grunts and they feel him turn, his back leaning into theirs unsteadily. He must be remembering the mission, too.

Quietly, as the fight breaks out around them in earnest, Byleth swears they’ll never let something so gruesome happen to him on their watch again.

\---

Felix does and doesn’t handle the consistent combat well. They dive further into the Alliance, heading along the northern border as a steady clip, and are met with towns and roads that the nobility has either overlooked, or just neglected (whether or not this is on purpose being irrelevant). Byleth hums when Felix grumbles lowly in the aftermath of another battle about high-and-mighty nobles not doing their actual jobs. It earns him some odd looks and snorts from the rest of the mercs.

Byleth was raised by Jeralt, of course, so they don’t shoot them dirty looks in warning to keep their mouths shut. Felix can deal with his own criticisms. Byleth understands his frustration. The fighting itself, Felix is fine with. He stays close to Byleth and they watch one another’s backs. They’re not a balanced pair, both quick-footed sword-wielders, but they work. What Felix isn’t so good with is how his upbringing as a (future) dutiful Fearghus noble clashes with how the Alliance as a whole works.

There’s been much bonding between Felix and the more receptive and warm mercs in the company (like Anastasia, a sweet-tempered archer with pitch black hair and a bad leg) over their common dislike of those in high society who only care for the social ladder, and getting as high up on it as humanly possible. Or- for some- even inhumanly. Granted that some of the more affluent houses are only such because they’ve earned the support of their people, but some territories aren’t nearly so lucky.

Like the one they’re in now. Kupala’s head of house is far too preoccupied with the Throat and the border with Almyra to be bothered with their own hamlets. Byleth knows Felix wants to give the reigning Lord a piece of his mind about their pissing contest with house Goneril taking precedence over the wellbeing of the common folk under their care. Byleth has to spend the nights they take watch soothing his anger over the injustice of it.

This night is a bad one, and they listen as he seethes quietly into the dark over how moronic it is to neglect one’s responsibilities for glory. They only interrupt because he’s talking himself in circles and frustrating himself more as the stars move overhead.

“Can I ask why you’re so bothered by this sort of thing?” Byleth asks in a thoughtful pause, “I thought you didn’t like chivalry and noble duty and all that.”

Felix sighs, his shoulders slumping as he speaks much more calmly, “I don’t. But Glenn raised me with a sense of responsibility. Even if I wasn’t going to be the new Shield of Fearghus, the next Duke Fraldarius… He always said that he wanted me to help him pick up his slack.”

Byleth hums, curiosity blooming behind their ribs; they hadn’t known he’d been raised by his brother instead of his parents (and come to think of it, where was his mother anyways?), “what did he mean by that?”

Felix worries a strand of his hair, which he’s allowed to grow long enough to reach his shoulders in the time they’ve known one another, “as Duke, he’d be caught up in managing the finances and trade and being Dimitri’s right hand. He’d also already been slated to marry Ingrid, a girl we grew up with and house Galatea heiress, so he’d be expected to be a husband and father.” He swallows as his voice goes a bit hoarse, but he soldiers on through the memories, “so he asked me to tend to the masses under our rule when he couldn’t. If he was stuck at some dusty desk with a pile of paperwork while bandits were trying to sack one of the towns, I would keep the citizens safe.”

“So you were raised with a sense of real responsibility to the people as your brother’s right hand,” Byleth clarifies aloud, receiving a nod that they’d heard him correctly, “instead of being preached to about the duty of a noble knight.”

Felix smiles, a little wistful and sad, “he made all those lectures make sense to me. My frustration with all the flowery, lofty ideals of knights and honor didn’t start when he died. He was just the only one who knew how to translate all of the drivel into something I could not only understand, but stomach.”

Byleth hums again and nods slowly. So when Glenn died, and everyone seemed to just spew a language he simply didn’t speak, there was no way for him to reconcile any of it anymore. It makes sense. Byleth reaches over and touches Felix’s elbow, “can I ask another question?”

Felix rolls his eyes, a habit he’s picked up from Anastasia (she often silently sasses Simon like this when he’s up on his proverbial soapbox about one thing or another), “yeah, sure.”

“Why were you upset with your country’s ideals in the first place?” they keep their hand on his arm, worries little circles into his sleeve with their thumb, knowing he finds comfort in such things, “and… Where has your mother been all this time?”

Felix heaves a deep, heavy sigh. It almost wheezes out of him like a slow leak, “It started when she dies, actually. I- don’t remember her very well. She died when I was young, but we’d been close. She’d been the one who could understand me, and put things into perspective for me, first. That’s where Glenn learned it. She’d never been someone who ascribed to all the legends of honor, but she’d loved my father so much in spite of the stark difference between them in that respect, that she’d married him.

“And like I was going to be to Glenn, and I expect that Ingrid would have been much the same, though Glenn would never have kept her from Galatea lands…” he shakes his head, “that’s beside the point. My mother was the one who cleaned up all the messes that my father was too busy for. She was strong, and she could put even a Knight of Seiros to shame with her flying skills. She had such a strong bond with her pegasus that when she-”

Byleth moves their arm and wraps it around his shoulders when he chokes up, “you don’t have to say it.”

Felix shakes his head, “we didn’t even know she was dead until it was clear she just wasn’t going to come back. After three days of no word or appearance from her, she was found dead, and the few remaining enemies from her final battle were in heaps around her, trampled to death by her pegasus, who wouldn’t leave her side. Father couldn’t get close. It wouldn’t eat. We had to wait for it to die next to her before she could be brought home and buried.”

Byleth does what Jeralt used to do when a young Byleth would tell him about their dreams of a king and a war and a woman driven mad with grief, and they press a kiss to Felix’s hair, hugging him to their side tightly. “She sounds like a great woman,” they say.

“She was incredible,” Felix confirms, voice thick and watery. “Pretty, too. Glenn looked a lot like her. They both had long hair, though hers was crimson, and he had her brown eyes and wider nose.” He sniffles, almost too quiet to hear, “I miss them both so much. I can barely remember her face and her voice. She used to sing me to sleep.”

It’s silent between them for a while, because Byleth doesn’t have anything to say, and doesn’t want to continue such a painful conversation for him. So they just let him settle down; and when he does, they hum a tune they’re not sure they’ve heard before, but surfaces from the back of their head regardless. They have to carry him to their shared inn room when they’re relieved from watch, and they tuck him into bed.

Byleth’s chest aches with how small and young he seems in these moments. How long has he held onto all of this? How many people have simply refused to lend him a kind hand to help his bleeding heart beat a little easier? Something ugly and protective rises in their throat, drags up their hackles. Their promise to never leave him completely alone against the world burns in the back of their throat.

They don’t realize exactly what it is until they’re half asleep. Felix isn’t just their friend. He’s family.

\---

They’re summoned by Duke Reigan a few days later. Jeralt approaches this meeting with a certain level of caution. That level being 100. Byleth’s hardly ever seen him so tense, has almost never known him to go into something expecting a worst-case scenario. The mercenaries circle up around Byleth and Felix outside the audience chamber while Jeralt is inside. Byleth can’t resist the urge to tuck Felix under their arm, against their side. If there’s any chance they’ll be chased out of the Alliance, too, or that Felix will be taken from them…

Jeralt comes out of the meeting looking perplexed, but not upset. Byleth tightens their arm around Felix anyways.

“We’re going to Almyra,” he looks at Felix, gaze steady and devoid of judgement, “if anyone doesn’t wish to leave Fóldlan, let me know.

Felix curls a hand into the back of Byleth’s tunic and presses himself even closer to them. He’s not going home. He’s not leaving their side. He meets Jeralt’s eyes, steady and resolute, and it gets a smile from the man, followed by a nod, and then the mercenaries around them start to talk among themselves.

\---

In the end, they leave about half of the company behind. Simon is placed in charge of them, seeing as they’ve all pledged that they’ll be waiting for them all to return. Once the group has split up, and the ones remaining behind have negotiated promises of foreign goodies brought back for them, those setting out beyond the Throat are pulled into another meeting. The Duke is not present, but rather a large Almyran man covered in scars, a big, warm smile on his face.

Nader the Undefeated. That’s who he is, though not how he introduces himself. He just says his name is Nader and that he’s in service to the Sultan- the King of Almyra, essentially is what Byleth understands that title means. He greets them all with dubious formality, (at least by Fódlan standards- though that is likely because they’re mercenaries and not nobility) and he tells them all what their job will be.

The company will be travelling to the Almyran capital city- Ursa- on hire by the Sultan himself. Jeralt and his mercenaries will be dedicated to protecting the Sultan’s wife, Duke Reigan’s daughter. Nader will be taking Byleth and Felix under his wing, and they will be assisting him in keeping Prince Essen safe. Apparently, with tensions on the border with Fódlan rising steadily in recent years, there has been unrest and dissent for the Sultan’s choice in life partners. There was an attempt on her life the last time they announced they were expecting a second child, and the baby was lost. In light of an increase in attempts on the Prince’s life as he nears his coming-of-age in a few years, they want extra protection, and the only people the family could think to trust with such a task, was the Blade Breaker.

Nader promises to explain more about the situation on the journey eastward. He will also be drilling the company on Almyran culture, and preemptively beginning Felix and Byleth’s training along the way. The man is either just wildly ambitious and capable, or reckless with how much he has deigned to take onto his shoulders. Byleth’s betting on the former.

\---

The picture does indeed flesh out as they cross the border, passing through Kupala once more. Felix takes great joy in the reigning noble’s blatant rage over having to let the Almyran escort through by order of Duke Reigan (and Byleth was right, Nader is very formal with the nobility). Nader begins to deliver on his promises as they pass through the mountains.

As it turns out, the Duke’s daughter has kept in touch with him. A private arrangement between himself and the Sultan has stood for a while now. Unarmed messengers are allowed to pass over the border with approval of two authorities on either side, so long as one of them is the Duke or the Sultan for the respective trip over the Throat. Jeralt is outwardly frustrated to learn that Rodrigue, while still careful to keep his promise that the Church wouldn’t catch wind, had blabbed about the troupe being under his hire to the Duke, who had written to his daughter about it, since he’d regaled her with stories of him as a child.

Hearing that the legendary man still lived and worked, and hearing of his child’s own prowess as well, she’d sent for their services. Nader says she’d wanted a fellow parent and a capable soldier on her side. Someone with a good heart, and perhaps even a taste of familiarity from her homeland. While the Sultan had protested at first, he’d eventually relented to the idea of their son also being under extra protection. Almyra, Nader tells them at length, greatly values battle prowess. The Sultan wants his son to be able to save his own skin, but he did see his wife’s point and desire to lessen her worry for their son.

So here Nader was, fetching them after Duke Reigan obliged his daughter’s request. For all his grief over her “running off” to a foreign land to marry for love, he still feels a need to look after her in some ways (Jeralt says the man looks sad over the distance between himself and his daughter, not just the physical kind). And besides, Essen is his grandson, and even if he hasn’t met the boy, and doesn’t expect he ever will, he feels some sense of obligation to support him at least a little. Hence, finding two living legends to keep them safe in a hostile environment.

In the mornings, when they’re rested, and in the evenings when they’re tired from travel, Nader trains Byleth and Felix in Almyran swordplay. With Almyran swords. They’re a bit lighter than the ones in Fódlan, but not at all unbalanced. They’re called kilij, and the blade has a graceful curve and only one edge to it. It’s quite a challenge for them to adjust to it, but Nader says they’re picking it up quickly as they come out of the mountains. 

The whole company begins to learn Almyran. Mostly formalities and other things relevant to their jobs, but the Sultan and his family all know Fódlan Common courtesy of the man’s wife, and many in the palace under their employ know it as well, so they don’t expect to have overly much use for the language beyond that, if their service isn’t needed for very long. Nader has a lot of fun with it, drilling them all as they march, teaching them with children’s rhymes and folk songs. Byleth is a little disappointed Simon stayed behind; he’d like this.

The mountains flatten out into rolling plains dotted with shrubs and the infamous Almyran pine trees. Nader points to a few dense clusters of them in the distance and says they’re likely propagated there for lumber and tea. Felix goads them into climbing one when they stop by a little copse of them one night, and they give their escort a little show of it. Nader laughs and likens them to a bird, tells them they ought to teach the skill to Essen, a twinkle in his eye.

About halfway to Ursa- two weeks through the journey- Nader starts training Byleth and Felix a bit more individually. Byleth has a hard time waking, so he trains Felix in the mornings in how to brawl. Felix, while slender, is fast and hits hard with help from his Crest. He’s nimble, and Byleth likes to wake up and watch him learn. Pride sits in their chest (and they know it’s pride, because Jeralt had ruffled their hair and said he was proud of Felix, too, when he’d seen them one morning) every time they see him get a handle on a new move, or exceed Nader’s expectations. At night, Nader puts short blades in Byleth’s hands that he calls kards, and teaches them to use their nimbleness in the trees and “unsettling nature” to their advantage with them. They’re not sure if they should be offended that the man’s profiled their lack of outward emotion as a boon for underhanded tactics. They ultimately decide it doesn’t matter if it gets the job done. Besides, who are they to say no to a new skill? Much less one not typically used in Fódlan? Even assassins and thieves still preferred a sword to a dagger. It would be quite the edge over enemies when they returned home.

As they draw closer to their destination, Nader puts an emphasis on Almyran culture in his marching-time lessons. How to bow properly, the significance of wyverns, the (surprisingly prominent and important) language of color, etiquette for purchasing things in the markets. Grass slowly fades to stone and sand, and the company ends up hot during the day and cold during the night as they cross a vast desert. At least this is the last leg of the trip, and Nader is very helpful in keeping them all apprised of how to keep cool and covered enough.

Byleth can’t complain much. Sure, Felix fusses over them when it gets cold at night, but the heat doesn’t bother them at all. And ever since they’ve started to train in the evening, they get to see Felix and Jeralt speaking in low tones, sharing a meal, or just sitting together. It’s heartwarming to see the two people they care for most come together when they’re otherwise occupied. The desert brings a sense of home to them in spite of how unfamiliar it is.

As Ursa appears on the horizon after nearly a month on the road, they savour the fleeting moments they get together with their father and newfound brother figure. They don’t expect to get many chances for the three of them to come together once they’re on the job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first. Ursa is actually Bursa, the first capital city of the Ottoman Empire without the B. Like Almyra is Palmyra (it is actually pronounced “parumira” in the Japanese version according to the wiki), a city in Syria way back when, without the P. Just trying to follow some of the game’s naming conventions here. I’m also trying to do research on the Ottoman Empire so that I’m actually building on the scant crumbs of lore we’re given for Almyra instead of just pulling things out of my ass and being a weirdo about the Middle East. Please let me know if something’s Not Right so I can fix it though. I’m trying to be careful, but I’m not under the impression that researching stuff means I’m above being inadvertently racist, especially since I'm also taking some artistic liberties and trying to make things fit at least loosely into game lore and the au I'm weaving here.
> 
> As it is... Here’s how the Almyran culture’s working in this fic. Still vaguely similar to the Ottoman Empire, because that’s what I’m thinking Almyra’s supposed to be based on. With liberties to fit into the lore of the game, obviously. Almyra’s still HUGE on combat and strength, but since the highest class in the Ottoman Empire was “Men of the Pen” I’m retconning that Fodlan just doesn’t really know that Almyra has scholars/governors like Fodlan does because they’ve never interacted with them since they stay mostly around the capital and richer cities, and seldom have anything to do with their pissy western neighbors, much less a good time of it if they do interact because of the Church of Seiros. The Sultan himself is both a warrior and a scholar, as are his wife and son. This is a family of buff nerds. They all particularly study economics, history, and politics outside of their combat and leadership training. Also, in the interest of keeping parallels between canon and my au here, as well as the game and the research I’ve done, Almyra’s keeping the alluded, generally polytheistic religion that Claude’s kinda-sorta talked about. Also, colors in Almyra will be like Crests are in Fodlan, kind of. Color is used as a symbolic language there I’ve decided for my story because it’s just interesting and it feels like it fits. Different colors denote class as well as what god(s) certain people are most devoted to, kind of like Crests denote bloodline and physical/magical power in Fodlan. Relevant ones will come up and be spelled out in the fic itself. Kinda got this idea from a lot of the Ottoman Empire art I’ve been seeing having such stark and vibrant colors.
> 
> I did completely bullshit the topography though. I thought that if Foldan can have so many different biomes that Almyra can too. Sue me.
> 
> Also yes Essen is Claude in case that's not 1000% clear. I was doing the first general outline of this whole fic and went "fuck it!" and decided he was going to be important. I just finished my Golden Deer route and am in love with the concept of combining Verdant Wind and Azure Moon. I've gotten out of control and I cannot be stopped. This story went from a dual character study and fix-it with found family trope to a passion project and a half. Send help. (Jokes aside it's still, at its core, a character study and a fix-it for Felix, but it's just got a lot going on around that because I don't know what self control is. Rest assured the Blue Lions will be prominent in a few chapters and all of this will have proven to have changed Felix for the better and that will reflect in his relationships, especially with Dimitri.)
> 
> Alright cool thank you all for coming to my Ted Talk. These notes are here for me as much and they’re here for all of you. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and my work schedule’s chilling out a bit more, so I’m excited to get more updates out! Sorry I keep writing essays in the notes jbdfjhdfhg I just get so excited and have to Tell Y'all Everything or I might explode? It's my adhdautism... F


	6. Tidal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix adjusts to his new life as a royal retainer in a foreign land that he's starting to doubt could be much more different from his homeland. For one, it's hot. And the prince here isn't nearly as regal as Dimitri (which is good, in his opinion, though he wouldn't change Dimitri for anything). Not to mention scholars are held in higher esteem than warriors, which he hadn't expected at all. Not that he's going to complain about learning valuable skills.
> 
> \---
> 
> _While we're here, let's see what happens  
>  What we got, got, got to lose (what we got to lose)  
> While we're tidal and flexed on a full moon  
> It'd be a sure, sure shame to not to_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would anyone like a feel-good chapter? Would anyone like a feel-good chapter?
> 
> Me too. This is mostly all the kids growing closer together and getting stronger, but of course I have to justify the fact that they're guarding Essen, so... Welcome to the Danger Zone.
> 
> Chapter title and lyrics from Imogen Heap!
> 
> Also since I haven't yet I wanted to properly thank everyone for the support I've been getting here. Your comments have honestly been so nice to read and reply to, and every bookmark and kudos I get makes my heart happy. I've been really struggling with my mental health and having positive feedback on this project I've been doing to keep myself sane has been so encouraging and keeping me motivated when I start to really slip. So thank you all so much for enjoying my content and I hope I can keep delivering stuff you like.
> 
> EDIT: made improvements to Essen and his family's writing

Felix, decidedly, hates the desert. The very concept, when he’d learned of it as a boy, had sounded unpleasant to begin with. Being in all this sand and heat? Absolutely miserable. He misses the snow. His only solace is how the temperature plummets at night. Also that Nader knows how to keep all his Fódlan guests cool enough to think, and only moderately sunburned.

It’s a relief to finally reach Ursa. It’s beautiful, sure, and he doesn’t blame the mercenaries around him for gawking, but he’s a little preoccupied with enjoying the shade that the buildings around them bring. Byleth’s talking Jeralt’s ear off, the insufferable jerk. Of course someone without their own bodyheat would be just hunky-fucking-dory in this sort of weather while he’s fairly certain he’s leaving tiny puddles of sweat behind with every step he takes. He’s contemplating calling his childhood instructors liars, because they told him Ailell was much worse than a desert, but he doubts there’s anywhere hotter than this, right now.

At least it had brought something good with it. The sun has tanned everyone out, of course, but Byleth’s came with a little bonus surprise. Freckles. Felix’s only joy has been teasing them relentlessly for someone with the nickname of “demon” to have a characteristic that was so text-book _cute_. It softened their face and their eyes, making them seem a bit younger, practically Felix’s age, and even downright friendly when they smiled. Anatasia had pinched their cheeks, for the Goddess’ sake!

Speaking of their smile… It was huge as they passed through the city. The closer they got to the royal palace, the more vibrant the colors got. Nader’s lessons surface from the back of Felix’s head as he watches the steady increase of blue, purple, yellow, and green. Symbols of wealth and status jumping out of the landscape of sun-bleached browns. Jeralt was intently nodding along to everything Byleth said as they gestured to anything that caught their eye. The pattern on some clothing in the market, the opulent hilt of a handsomely crafted sword. The shape of the roofs of the palace.

Seeing Byleth and Jeralt share in the excitement of the unfamiliar culture around them soothes his mood. He feels himself smile at their backs as he follows them through the crowds of the city. He’s only distantly aware of the suspicious glares and low mutterings about their group. Nader had made it no secret that they wouldn’t be welcomed warmly by the people here. Not that he cares for anyone’s opinion of him but their employers.

The palace itself is… Beyond opulent. The fact that Almyra is a prosperous nation hits Felix in full-force within the halls of the sprawling halls of the royal home. It’s even more beautiful than the city around it, and nearly as lively to boot. The guards and servants bustle and work around the group of Fódlan travelers. Felix is dragged off to a bath with Byleth as soon as everyone’s had some water and been checked for heatstroke. They’re doused with pleasantly cool water, scrubbed down with scented soaps lathered into soft rags, and their hair washed, detangled, and worked into updos. By the end of it all, they’re in blessedly clean and loose clothing and no one is touching Felix anymore. Will wonders never cease.

Byleth cuts an imposing figure in their new clothing, kind of like how they did when Felix first met them. It’s not like the clothing style in general is too much different from how they usually dress- practical and black with sparing amounts of armor. No, Felix is hit with how small Byleth endeavors to look, typically, like they want to be looked over. The tunics they’re in now don’t do that, the cut of the collar and sleeves accentuating that they are the child of _Jeralt the fucking Blade Breaker_ , meaning they’re tall and muscular and have spent their life on the road, fighting. Even their freckles and the way they smile nowadays doesn’t soften the look. Of course, the colors (and Nader’s lessons on them) play a hand as well. Black, the color of mystery and even evil, with touches of royal blue telling everyone they’re in service to the crown, and the red sash and pants flashing a signal for danger. Anyone could look at them and know exactly who they are: the deadly retainer to a prince, battle tested evidenced by the scars on their exposed arms and collar bones. It’s more than a Crest in Fódlan could ever say.

Felix, on the other hand, is in white. Purity and mourning. He almost snorts (over being called pure, over how on-the-nose the second meaning is), but it occurs to him that he’s meant to look unassuming next to Byleth. If they’re a walking threat, he’s like a hidden knife, meant to be ignored or underestimated. He’s still got blue on him, more than Byleth, but any red is relegated to accents in the pattern on his sash, the trim of his tunic. He’s smaller and younger than Byleth, and he’s seen first-hand how enemies underestimate him next to the Ashen Demon when they were fighting together in the Alliance. They’re both flashy and misdirecting, and Felix’s conversation with Byleth in Kupala resurfaces in his head as they approach the royal audience chamber to meet the ruling family- to meet their charge. He’s to watch Byleth’s back and fill in any gaps, just like his promise to Glenn.

The circle is complete, Felix should probably be a little bothered by how he’s taking this kind of role on for anyone but his brother, but it’s Byleth, and they’re not in Fearghus. He’ll figure out why that makes it okay later.

Right now, he needs to pay attention. The group has entered a sprawling room with a vaulted ceiling. The higher parts of the walls and the entire ceiling are covered in glittering mosaics. The windows throw the light of the sunset over the artwork and the rich blues, white, purples, greens, oranges, all inlaid with gold, seem to move. Scenes of fearsome battles and depictions of higher beings all pop out in stark relief. Felix has never been one for art, but this display takes his breath away. It’s beautiful, and he almost risks being rude by staring at it instead of the important people in the room.

The Sultan is just as physically imposing as Jeralt (who’s bedecked in orange and black as he was before, only it’s different like the way it is on Byleth; the threat lies in his physical bulk and scars more than how he’s dressed. The fact that orange is for mourning doesn’t escape Felix, but he’ll ask about that later) and Nader combined. He’s a giant like the other two men, but he’s got a kind of regality to him that Felix hasn’t seen since Lambert still breathed. His gaze is appraising as it sweeps over the group. Two living legends, the son of a prestigious foreign noble, and a group of tough and professional mercs. 

His wife, starkly Fódlan next to her husband, is equally as regal beside him, however dwarfed in size she may be. She’s dressed almost as prettily as the walls around them. Her green eyes are just as sharp as her husband’s, if not more so with how she grew up in Fódlan and knows what to look for in the group she’s hired on.

Their son, Essen, is a charming mish-mash of the two of them. His skin is a touch lighter than his father’s, he doesn’t have the same bulk as the Sultan, and he has his mother’s eyes. His gaze is nearly as appraising as his parents’. His hair is an orchestrated mess of brown locks with braids on either side of his face, and he’s in expensive garb that accentuates the power he does have, just like his father.

Felix also reads curiosity off of him as his eyes go over himself and Byleth. Essen’s eyes are just a little wide, just a touch excited, and it reminds Felix of a little Dimitri watching Glenn train. It makes him a little homesick, just for a moment, as the company bows like Nader taught them to.

\---

Where Essen is nearly as princely as Dimitri in the audience chamber before his parents, as soon as it’s just him with Felix, Byleth, and Nader? He’s dropped all of his regalness and bombarded them with questions about Fódlan. They really met his grandfather? What was he like? Did Felix really live somewhere where it snows enough to collapse a roof? What’s mercenary life like in Fódlan? How many bandits did they fight on the way to Almyra?

Felix finds himself overwhelmed by the enthusiasm, blinking at his employer a few times, at a loss.

Nader swoops in to rescue him and poor Byleth- who has just gone “um”. He ruffles a big hand through Essen’s hair and gently scolds him, “go easy on them, kiddo, they’re pretty awkward. And tired.”

“But Nader,” Essen flaps a hand at Byleth, pouting theatrically, “Byleth’s in black! Black!”

Byleth finally seems to get a grip, “I mean, I don’t think I’m that mysterious?”

“But you are that deadly?” Essen’s eyes go wide as dinner plates, “even before Nader’s training?”

“Maybe?” Byleth reaches up and back, worrying at the back of their neck, “only if it’s called for…”

Felix’s brain seems to kick into gear, now, for which he is grateful, “you might not be mysterious, but you are weird, Byleth.”

They shoot him a scandalized look out of the corner of their eye, “thanks, Felix. What a great first impression of me you’re giving our royal charge and employer.”

Essen laughs and waves dismissively- the type to talk with his hands, apparently, “it’s fine. You two seem close, and I don’t expect you to be totally professional. You’re my age, after all. I was hoping to be friends.”

Felix waves in Essen’s general direction and raises a single brow at Byleth, who sighs in defeat and shakes their head. Nader laughs, and Essen keeps bombarding them with his curiosities.

\---

Early on, Felix declares Essen is weird, too. Since the three of them seem to have very quickly thrown formalities to the wind. Even Byleth with their high work-ethic and sense of professionalism. It’s hard not to like Essen though, Felix will admit, so he can’t fault them for it.

Felix had expected the prince to be a bit like Dimitri, haunted by all the things that have happened to him and in need of someone to actually notice he’s hurting and help him work through it. But he’s not; he doesn’t hide how scared he is of the attempts on his life, even in the lull of the enemy parsing out his new retainers in their schemes. No, he doesn’t paste a smile over the way he trembles when Felix or Byleth has to check on him, because his whimpering woke them up when it drifted through the thin wall between their connected rooms and it leaves no room for pretending he’s fine. He just tentatively leans into the comfort they both offer him in his moments of weakness once he’s over the shock of receiving the offer in the first place.

He’s not what Felix is used to. At all. He’s so accustomed to everyone around him covering up their suffering in some way. Whether it’s Dimitri trying to be an idyllic prince, or Sylvain flirting with any woman he sees to cope with the grief his Crest brings him, or Ingrid hiding away after Glenn’s death… Well, he’s just not used to this kind of honesty. Even Glenn had played at being okay, acting as the family rock after mother died. And Byleth was just barely able to express what they were feeling now. So Essen’s genuine shows of weakness to them throws Felix off balance.

He’s not upset about it, of course. Just confused. Felix and Byleth have barely been here for a few weeks, and the prince has every reason to keep his heart locked up tight around any new person. But he just lets them see him cry and shake, and treats them both like old friends with the way he jokes around with them.

So he asks, because he wants to know. “Hey, Essen,” Felix breaks into the silence of them watching Byleth and Nader spar, “why are you acting so familiar with us, anyways? You have no reason to trust us, it’s weird.”

Essen’s eyes, green as fresh pine needles, flick from the action over to Felix, “I have my reasons. Is it a bad thing?”

Felix rolls his eyes. Essen, while emotionally open, has always been closed-off with his actual words, “I’m not complaining, I just don’t understand. People are out for your life, and the first foreigners with a contract to protect you come along and you let them see you cry over your nightmares?”

Essen puffs out a ghost of a laugh, resting his arms on his knees, “honestly, I just found myself jealous when I met you guys. I’ve never had someone I can trust and be close with like you two are, and as soon as I saw you and Byleth banter away from prying eyes? All I wanted was to get in on it.” He shrugs, turning his gaze back to where Nader’s tossing Byleth into a heap on the dusty training ground, “it’s entirely selfish.”

Essen sounds bitter when he says the word “selfish”, so Felix snorts derisively, “you really are weird, thinking it’s a bad thing to want friends.” He elbows the prince in the side, demanding his attention back, “Byleth’s not that different from you, you know. I’m their first friend, and that only happened a couple of years back. We’re all peas in a pod, here. Grabbing at any good connection we can make.” He smirks at his charge, “besides, you and Byleth being weird is part of your charm.”

Essen eyes him carefully, then his shoulders droop and he grins, “thanks, Felix. I think.”

\---

Felix loves- no, adores- his training. He likes adding onto Glenn’s training with him in brawling, combining his new knowledge with the swordsmanship ingrained into him from so early on. Granted the fact that Nader gets frustrated with him from time to time. He’s been training in the knightly Fearghus combat style since he was a boy, and even if he’s still young, it’s been beaten into him by his brother. Byleth adapts to the Almyran swordsmanship much more naturally, as well as with brawling. Where Felix still aims mostly to slip into openings and hit hard and fast, Byleth’s taken on the art of throws and holds with brutal ease. Soon enough, Nader is even having problems keeping them in his grasp. For such a large person, they’re fucking slippery. It’s comical, in a way, and he shares laughs with Essen over it frequently.

The only thing Felix loves more than learning all this, is learning even more still. Almyra values scholarship above even battle prowess, while Fearghus had only cared for strength and honor. Felix isn’t really one for scheming and underhanded tactics, but the things he learns with Essen are just plain  _ useful _ , and who is he to turn down more weapons in his arsenal, however literal they may or may not be? If it gets the job done, who is he to dismiss it?

Speaking of which, he takes up the axe with Essen. Nader wants the prince versed in close combat alongside his bow, and Felix volunteers to learn with him, because if he’s got two points of the weapon triangle on his belt… Well, no one stands a chance against him. Which means he can watch Byleth’s back better, and eventually Dimitri’s as well, and at present he’s also able to do better at his paying job of protecting Essen.

All these new skills prove entirely necessary. They get a month of hard training and attending all of Essen’s lectures and duties with him before they have to truly do their job. The event also proves to burst Felix’s bubble of isolation within the palace, where the cultural differences aren’t so stark and he’s free to assume that Essen is not so different from Dimitri in that his people would not so openly attack him.

Well, openly is a stretch, but the first attempt on Essen’s life isn’t nearly as convoluted when compared to the careful planning the Tragedy of Duscur had to have required. Felix never believed the people of Duscur had killed the royal family. Even Dimitri’s trust and kindness knew limits, and keeping Dedue by his side as he had would not have happened if the common belief of the Duscur people killing nearly everyone Dimitri loved in front of him held any water. That’s why it’s so startling to wake up to the sounds of struggle in Essen’s room. Shouting in Almyran reaches his ears, and he only catches snippets and understands even less, half awake as he is.

Felix is spurred into moving when he hears Byleth get up and draw their sword. He looks to them, alarmed and suddenly totally unprepared to deal with this, but they just nod to his axe by the bed and open the door into Essen’s room. The enemy will be seeing the bookcase there swing out from the wall, and Felix can hear more of the words being said. Things Nader had drilled them on so they could pick up on trouble even if they didn’t have the whole picture, couldn’t follow the entire conversation.

There is “prince”, “die”, “stain”- and as Byleth descends upon them: “demon”. Felix scrambles into the room only a few steps behind Byleth, and he wishes for a fraction of a second that he’d been faster when he sees the scene before him.

There are three strangers in Essen’s room, and Byleth is dragging one of them off the prince himself, who is bleeding on the floor beneath another attacker. The third enemy is approaching Byleth, and for a moment Felix is torn, but steel flashes in the moonlight over Essen, and he moves. Byleth can handle two attackers, but their charge, their prince, their  _ friend, _ is pinned and already wounded, and he’s going to  _ die- _

Felix won’t let it happen. He can’t. What sort of royal retainer, young and foreign or not, would he be if he allowed this to just  _ happen _ (not to mention that if he failed, and Essen was seriously injured or worse, then who, other than his parents, would the prince have left to trust, if not his retainers?). He throws his whole weight into the shoulder he drives into the arm that would dare attempt to bring a knife down on Essen, and follows through. He takes advantage of the way the enemy staggers, wrapping his arm around their waist and hauling them back and away from his charge with his whole bodyweight. They flail with the knife, catch his bicep with it, but they’re off Essen, who can now get up from being painfully leaned back against his desk, and that’s all Felix cares about.

Felix twists and turns, shoving the attacker away from himself while putting his body between them and Essen like a human shield (his future title burns like a brand in the back of his mind). They catch their footing, adjust their grip on the knife, and rebound to attack him quickly. But he’s a Fraldarius, and he’s fast, and he has a whole entire axe in his hand. He raises it in a block, shoving the enemy farther back, and following them. They lose ground with every swing of Felix’s weapon, and part of him swells with pride, because this was supposed to be a professional assassin up against a teenager who’s not even wielding his best weapon? Truly?

Except he forgot that Almyra’s fighters are not as direct as those in Fearghus, and as soon as he’s got the enemy with their back to the window, they pull out another knife, and Felix suddenly has a blade in his side. He chokes out a sound of pain, reeling, and they start taking the ground they gave him back.

Felix is just starting to figure out some sort of plan to get the upper hand- truly, this time- when an arrow finds its home in his enemy’s eye socket as he ducks a swipe for his throat. They fall, dead on impact, and he whips his head around to see Essen cringing out of form, bow clutched in his hands with bone-white knuckles. His eyes flick past him just for a moment, and Byleth’s dispatching the last of their assailants. Felix forces his attention back to his prince- he’s still actively bleeding, and Felix is sure the blood on Byleth isn’t theirs.

Essen says something to him in Almyran as he approaches, and he doesn’t even bother to look confused. The tone of it and the look on his face tells Felix all he needs to know- he’s shaken up and hurt and worried about the knife hilt still sticking out of Felix, just below the ribs. But the blade remaining in the wound is good, it keeps the blood in, and Essen’s got a gash on his face, his shoulder, his arm, and Felix needs to-

“That’s enough,” Byleth’s voice is low and gentle in his ear, gentle hands sticky with blood taking his and Essen’s hands. They say in Almyran, “come.”

Both boys stumble after Byleth to the connected room, sit on the edge of Felix’s bed as they’re told, and Essen begins to tremble like a branch in the wind when Byleth turns away, rummaging for medical supplies.

Felix is still running high on adrenaline, he’s not in proper pain yet, and the fear hasn’t quite yet hit him in the aftermath. He reaches out and places his hand over Essen’s where he’s still clutching his bow, like Byleth does when he wakes up from nightmares of Glenn’s death.

Byleth’s smearing salve on Essen’s wounds while Felix holds a rag to his now-open wound when there’s noise from the other room. They stand abruptly at the voices- familiar, so a mercenary or two is among them- and place the medical supplies in Felix’s hands pointedly before they meet the guards in the room over. He obediently continues to tend the gash on Essen’s cheek.

It’s only a few moments before his hand is batted away, the prince frowning and shaking his head, “let me help you with that, first.” He points to Felix’s own injury with shaky hands, but Felix finds he can’t begrudge the other boy.

He allows Essen to pry his hand, the rag, and then his shirt away from the wound, clumsy with jittering hands, but gentle, and allows himself to be moved around until his charge can clean up and staunch the blood, then manage to get the salve on it in spite of how his hands still jitter and shake, and then helps him bandage his waist. Only then does the noise from the prince’s room die down, Byleth returning and closing the door behind them. Muffling the sound of the bodies being removed.

“I told the guards you were safe,” they report to their prince, back straight as they watch Felix continue patching Essen up now that he’ll allow it. “I figure you wouldn’t want them to see you like this.”

Essen nods and drags in a ragged breath, “thanks… I- I’m sorry, can I stay here the rest of the night?”

Byleth smiles at him, soft and understanding, and nods, “of course. Whatever you need, Essen.”

Felix watches his fingers finally uncurl from his bow.

\---

That’s not the end of it- far from it. Once the initial attempt is made, it seems that more happen every other week. Felix and Byleth sleep in shifts, now, and sometimes Essen has them stay in his room with him, or he will slip into theirs. It helps the night attacks, but Essen has banned them from testing his food before he eats. He says he’s built immunities to a myriad of poisons, and he doesn’t want to risk their untrained bodies against anything laced. It leaves him bedridden for days a few times, but he always pulls through. Felix finds he hates having to delicately tip water down his prince’s throat while he struggles to breathe.

Felix is glad he hardly sees the king and queen through all of this, because he’s not sure he’d be able to hold his tongue. They’ve seldom been present for any of it, much less supportive. Even if they have hired more protection for him, and are having him train to look after himself, it feels so cold for them to be so hands-off about such frequent threats to their son’s life.

Essen asks them to not think too much of it, that it’s better than it was before, with them here. But Felix is reminded of his own father(which is probably making the situation seem worse than it really is. Essen has said before that they’re hands-off because they want him to be as self-sufficient as possible), and all he wants to do is shake some sense into the people who are supposed to care for this boy the most. But he doesn’t, which is a testament to how good of an influence Byleth and Essen are on him. How well he knows his position here. Back in Fearghus, he would have stomped his feet and shouted- he had, over Dimitri. But here, he’s not a noble destined to be the prince’s right hand, he’s just a retainer. And a temporary one without the full picture of their family dynmic, at that. So he holds his tongue and finds ways to help Essen himself under everyone’s noses.

Byleth does, too, as they always do. While Felix learns to use an axe with Essen, Byleth takes to the skies with him on the backs of wyvers, or keeps pace on the ground on a horse. They take well to the mounts, and the animals and stable hands seem to like them just as well. Felix isn’t surprised, what with how Jeralt is a revered paladin, and all. Outside of training and official duties, the three of them still act like old friends. Felix and Byleth keep their arms open for when Essen needs that kind of shelter.

Jeralt… He still wears orange, and as Byleth’s birthday nears, he seems both more keen to spend quality time with them, and solemn. Murmurs ripple through the palace, and Nader has to explain Almyran mourning traditions to them. The family, friends, and community of the deceased tend to come together to mourn in the event that someone dies. It’s usually just over a month, the typical mourning period, during which one is not supposed to dress in finery, laugh, celebrate life events, or be particularly loud. Only Jeralt is mourning years later, still, and he’s still spending quality time with Byleth and the Mercenaries, telling stories of the dead that are less than flattering, though his words may be devoid of anything but love and a sense of loss. By Almyran standards, he’s being downright rude to the dearly departed’s memory.

Byleth feels the need to clarify the man’s behavior for Nader and Essen, and Felix sits by with them, because he doesn’t know any of this, either. He’d spent Byleth’s birthdays thus far with just the two of them, and he’d never wanted to pry into why they’d get a far-off look every now and then on the days surrounding it.

“My mother died giving birth to me,” they tell them, standing before the three of them in the training yard, shoulders slumped, “I never got to know her, but father… He always tells me stories about her, and it’s never been a secret that she was practically his whole world outside of his work when they were together.”

Essen’s brow creases, “I guess that makes sense. I’m sorry you never got to know your mother, though…”

Byleth shrugs, “she gave her own life for mine. I’m grateful to her for it beyond words, even if it can seem like she took a piece of father with her, some days.” They smile, a little wobbly, but not at all forced, “and he’s never blamed me for it. I think he’s just glad to have a piece of her left in me, on the bad days.” They roll their shoulders and rub the back of their neck, a nervous tick, Felix has come to realize, “besides, it’s nice to see him smile more and more at her memory as the years go by. He used to spend days in and out of tears. Don’t tell him I said that, though.”

Nader nods, solemn, “of course not. He seems like a good man.”

Byleth’s smile brightens at that, “he is.”

\---

Felix, later, seeks Jeralt out when he knows he’ll be tending his horse in the stables. He’d left Essen in Nader’s care, and Byleth’s been dragged off by Anastasia to go out on the town for the evening. Jeralt had spent the afternoon with them all, and Felix almost feels guilty approaching him now. He looks drawn and sad as he passes a brush through his steed’s mane.

He’s been thinking about this all day, though. He’s had a feeling that Byleth sees him as family for a while, though they haven’t said it out loud. He recognizes the protective air of an older sibling, the care and attention they give him reaching beyond simple friendship; even beyond what he’d had with Dimitri, Sylvain, and Ingrid before everything fell apart. The only thing comparable is the memory of Glenn.

And, gosh, they’re just two kids without mothers, and Felix can’t stand the father he’d left in Fearghus, and maybe it’s presumptuous of him, but… He wants to offer Jeralt- on the twentieth anniversary of such a stark loss- another family member. Not to spite or replace his father, but simply because the man has taken him in, and maybe- just maybe… Some gratitude for that might soothe the ache of mourning in his chest. He knows Byleth’s gratitude for his friendship had been good for him on his own birthday what seems like ages ago, now.

“Hey kid,” Jeralt greets Felix when he comes up beside him, “did you need something?”

Felix hums, steels his nerves, “I wanted to ask if I could call you father. When it’s just us and Byleth.”

Jeralt’s movements slow, then stop, and he looks down at Felix in surprise, though he’s not upset at all. He smiles a little, lopsided, and says, “huh. Yeah, okay. I think that’d be… Nice.” He resumes his work for a moment of relaxed silence while this new development settles between them, “I was wondering when you’d catch on to how Byleth sees you. You’ve practically been my kid since we left your old man in the snow.”

Felix snorts at that, because he’s honestly right, “of course. I’ve been waiting for them to slip and call me “brother”.”

Jeralt shakes his head, “they wouldn’t. But I’ll encourage them to say it anyways.”

Felix nods and turns to leave, feeling that he’s done something kind by the man who’s allowed him to close to himself and his own child. Content. But Jeralt calls after him, and he draws up short by the door, turning to look at him curiously.

“Thanks, son,” he says, earnest though it’s clear he’s just trying the new title out, “I wish my wife was still here, she’d really like you.” He pauses, smiling fondly, “and she’d probably rip Rodrigue a new asshole in the most polite way imaginable.”

Felix laughs at that and turns to get back to his job and wait for Byleth to return from the city. He’d have liked to see that, and knows that his own mother would do the same if they saw the pathetic, neglectful ass Rodrigue has made himself into.

What a lot of weirdos he’s managed to ingratiate himself to. Then again- what does that say about him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously there's more canon divergence here. It's only gonna go off the rails more and I don't know what it feels like to feel remorse or trepidation about it yet
> 
> Hope this chapter was a nice break, because shit's going to hit the fan again next chapter (I already have half of it written oops), and then it's going to be a whirlwind right into the plot of the game. Essen's going to get the spotlight next up, and he's going to get a front-row seat to some of Byleth's Danger due to their job as well as more of their lore surfacing a bit! And we're also going to get how he feels about Felix and all his stuff and just. A lot. I'm excited, his view of everything is going to be so different. If you think Felix and Byleth are observant and emotional acrobats buckle the fuck up lads and ladies and non-binary friends it's Claude von Reigan time
> 
> Gonna try and put together a playlist for this fic, I think? It'll probably get out of hand and turn into, like, five, but whatever. One with the songs in the chapter titles, one for the Feel or plot or something, one for Byleth, one for Felix, and another for some wild idea I get down the line. Either way I'll try to find a way to share them with you all. Probably youtube or something.
> 
> As always I hope you all enjoyed the chapter and are having as much fun with the fic as I am! If you don't mind me making word salad at you please leave a comment telling me what you think of the chapter/fic so far.


	7. This is Your Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Essen may be a prince, but when you're not well-loved by your people, life tends to be lonely. Even if it's not a smart idea, he wants to trust his new retainers. He just hopes this friendship doesn't bite him in the ass later on.  
> \---  
>  _Wait for something better  
>  No one behind you  
> Watching your shadows  
> You gotta be stronger than the story_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuing some of the feel-good friendship and family vibes but it's not gonna last :( sorry y'all...
> 
> here's the playlist for the chapter title tracklist: [Not to Disappear chapter title tracklist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLBZHxoqQQl6Jqgo2WuHj1GwTiCwcGJGtD)  
> there might sometimes be the song for the next chapter in the mix, but I won't guarantee it since sometimes I start with one song and then change it as I'm writing/editing, so yeah hjsfhjd  
> ALSO: if anyone has some recommendations for a playlist, or a want for one, I love... compiling playlists a Lot so feel free to comment something you'd like to see (or uh. hear)! of course you're also 100% welcome to make your own if you'd like and I'll link them in the notes for other readers to enjoy
> 
> I hope I'm not updating too quickly... I really don't have a lot going on so this has been how I've been spending my time constructively.
> 
> Thank you all again for your enthusiasm for the story and support! I hope you enjoy Claude hours because trying to write this chapter kicked my ass. I might come back around and edit it more later but I have to call this thing acceptable before I delete the whole thing and start over for the third time. Fucking... I'm sorry just take my garbage I promise the next chapter will be better than this
> 
> EDIT: finally fucking proofread this. made some grammar edits. mostly changed writing involving Essen's family and the Almyran dissenters of the crown.

Essen hasn’t had Felix and Byleth around for very long, but he’s sure that he would be sorely worse off without them. Nader’s great, but having two people from the other side of the border, the other side of his bloodline, to learn from- people his own age who, while paid to keep him safe, seem to actually like him as a person? It’s been a priceless experience in more ways than one.

Priceless in that no one could make him have anyone else hired to be his constant watchers. Also priceless in that Byleth- stoic, genuine, wild Byleth- and Felix and Jeralt and their mercenary company are just so different from the people he’s grown up with. Felix learns how to use an axe with him on a whim. Byleth, for all their bulk and height, can throw themselves around a fight as easily as any alley cat. Jeralt, for how he wears orange perpetually and always seems a bit subdued, is so bright with his children.

Essen has never seen Nader laugh harder than when Byleth pulled Essen aside while the general tussled in the dirt with Felix and taught the prince how to climb the stone walls around them. They’re not unlike the lizards he’d chase when he was a little boy, with their little claws sticking to any crevice they could find and darting up and down and along the pillars. While Essen shows them how to handle a wyvern, they show him several ways to shoot up a wall, a tree, a cliff, and gain all-too-valuable distance and highground he can shoot from. Felix also laughs at them, and as they sit at the top of a pillar and catch their breaths, Byleth tells him how Felix flying into hysterics over Byleth climbing a tree was what tipped them over the line between houseguest and friend.

He gets a lot of glimpses past Byleth’s apparent struggle to emote like this. Little eccentricities that make them undeniably human to anyone who sees them in such a state. It’s the same with Felix, kind of. Felix comes off as prickly and too-literal, but Essen sees and hears in the way he looks to Byleth in times he’s unsure, or just blatantly asks Essen to explain things when they can’t help him, that he’s got a bleeding heart stitched into his sleeve and just doesn’t seem to process things like Essen does. Both of them are like walking collections of insights into the other. Byleth is good with animals, and Felix says it’s because they never had any friends before him, so they tended to hang around the mercenary’s horses as a kid. Felix calls things weird if he doesn’t understand them but is okay with that lack of understanding and likes the oddities, anyways.

Needless to say, Essen quickly finds himself in their fold and speaking their language. In doing so, of course, he learns about Fódlan. Mostly Fearghus, of course, but it’s still more than he had before. Besides, he’s heard plenty about the Alliance from his mother over the years.

The Holy Kingdom isn’t so very different from Almyra in some ways. They value strength above all else. They need to be rugged to survive the cold north, to keep their ever-persistent bandit problems in check, to combat their aggressive northern neighbors (and Essen bites his tongue about that- he’s sure Sreng isn’t half the angry land the stories make it out to be, but he also knows very little about them), to maintain their prestige as a land of strong and noble knights. They have a harsh climate, not unlike the desert around Ursa in how dangerous it is, even if the climates are wholly different. But they’re also unstable, and Felix says their prince isn’t well. Essen doesn’t miss how Byleth puts a hand on his elbow to banish the pinch from his brow when his whole face scrunches up when he speaks of his prince.

Huh.

\---

Essen is anxious when Felix returns, pleased, from his talk with Jeralt. Nader takes his leave to meet with his soldiers for evening drills after a few minutes of Felix refusing to divulge any details of the conversation to the older man.

The prince tosses himself back into his pillows and sighs, “Fe?”

“Yeah?” Felix asks as he returns from seeing Nader out. The first time Essen had called him that, he’d tensed up and snapped at him, only to abruptly backpedal and explain he hasn’t been called that by anyone but his old childhood friends before his brother died. Now, he’s adjusted to being called by it again, and even encourages it in the privacy of their rooms.

“Why do you look so upset when you talk about your prince back home?” Essen asks, patting the bed in a bid for his friend- and Felix and Byleth may be his retainers on paper, but they are very much his  _ friends _ \- to make himself comfortable, “ever since I saw your face screw up like you’d tasted something foul that first time, it’s been eating at me.” Sometimes he even feels bad, like he’s trapped Felix in service to another prince he might grow to dislike, should something awful happen to either of them.

Felix sighs heavily after a moment of tense silence, and Essen looks over at him when he feels him sit by his knees, his face downcast. It’s so far from how he’d reacted to the topic a few months ago that it catches him off guard a bit. His curiosity spikes in his chest as Felix refuses to look at him, his jaw working over his words.

It doesn’t take too long for him to speak up, not that Essen was prepared to be anything but the most patient person on the planet at the moment, “it’s… Complicated.”

He spins a tale of two boys who were nigh inseparable from birth, even if Felix’s older brother- Glenn, held in high esteem and a painful absence- had been slated for such a position by the prince’s side. Propriety and lineage have no place in the image Felix offers to Essen in quiet words. Dimitri- the prince of the Kingdom- earnest to a fault and just as much of a bleeding heart as Felix, prone to breaking things due to his inherited monstrous strength. They were friends close enough to put tales of dynamic duos in fairytales to shame. They’d grown together, trained together, learned everything they knew together.

And then someone had killed Dimitri’s family and framed the people of Duscur- formerly a small, peaceful nation on the western border of Fearghus and now a wasteland ruled by a cruel Fódlan noble- for the Tragedy. The king, his queen, and the royal guard were all slaughtered. Glenn, the youngest to be appointed as part of that very guard, had died protecting Dimitri.

“I read the reports behind my father’s back,” Felix confesses as the summer sun finally sets as the evening grows late, “Dimitri went into shock so badly that the enemy assumed he’d died, when really he’d been unable to- the search parties found him still under my brother’s corpse, staring at nothing and hardly breathing. They only found him alive at all because Dedue- the Duscur boy he enlisted to his direct service to protect him from the framing- and his family were trying to check for survivors themselves.” Felix covers his face with his hands, breathes deep through the mental images, “and my grievances about how the adults around us treated my brother’s death aside… Dimitri locked himself in his room for months. He’d only let Dedue in, and I spent hours outside his door, waiting to join them, screaming at anyone who passed by to go in there and make sure he was eating, sleeping, not just sat in his room crying while Dedue tried his best to soothe him.

“Dedue was the only one who would listen to me. He’s the only one who saw Dimitri needed other people to help him through his grief. My father only did so much to try and appease me, and when I still wasn’t satisfied with Dimitri finally coming out of his room and pretending he was fine when he wasn’t, he banished me from his side until i could “learn to be nice”...” Felix rakes a hand through his hair, “so, there. That’s why I’m upset over the topic of my prince.”

Essen takes a long moment to swallow it all down, and to give Felix a chance to calm down after bringing all of it up. He reaches out to Felix like Byleth does, only more careful, and his brush of fingers against Felix’s arm is met with a hand wrapping around his, grip firm.

“But it’s different, now,” Essen points out, “months ago, you looked angry, and now you look sad.”

Felix chokes out a sound that may have been a laugh if they sounded like sobs, “time away and Byleth’s influence.” He finally looks at Essen, “I didn’t… My methods to get Dimitri help were bad, and probably just made both of us more miserable than we already were in the aftermath of everything. I should have shut my stupid mouth and played the long game to stay close to him, to stand with Dedue at his side and be the person he didn’t have to be some ideal version of himself for. But I blew it, and now I’m here, and he’s probably slowly wasting away behind his stupid princely veneer in spite of Dedue’s best efforts.”

“You say that like you’ll be here forever,” Essen observes aloud, “your job here will end at some point, and you’ll go back to Fódlan. Who says you can’t try again?”

Felix’s face crumbles under the idea, considering and fearful, “I… Maybe, but... What if I’m too late? How could I even work my way back to his side when before I left, I wasn’t even allowed near him? The last time I saw him, he- he made a bloodbath of a simple bandit suppression mission.”

Essen winces. Dimitri sounds pretty far gone, undeniably in bad shape, but… He’s also had time, and he’s had Dedue just like Felix has had Byleth. Things are different, and… “You could return home from your fantastical travels to a foreign land having turned over a new leaf.” Essen squeezes his fingers around Felix’s and smiles slowly, mischief sparking in his eyes, “use what you’ve learned here. Underhanded tactics could get you by his side again if you play it all right. You left an angry boy and you can return as a young man who wants to be the knight his older brother had been. Once you’ve got Dimitri within reach, then you hold him close and you do what you do for me here, only instead of soothing my poor lonely heart, you’re helping your best friend recover under everyone’s noses.”

Felix’s face slowly morphs into a wry smile, “it’s not too late for a retainer to do their job until their charge is dead, right?”

Essen nods, “exactly.”

\---

Byleth doesn’t come back from town the night of their birthday. The mercenary they went with does, injured and beside herself. Essen watches Felix and Jeralt’s reactions carefully. For all their differences in character, age, and experience, they respond to the news much the same. Devastation wrapped up in fear and the desire to protect. It’s more than a little heartbreaking to watch their faces collapse into panic and grief before they scrape up their wills and set their jaws. Felix may not be Jeralt’s flesh and blood, be he is certainly his son.

Essen calls for a healer for Anastasia and butts himself into where Felix and Jeralt pour over the ransom note she’d been given by the captor while Nader escorts the injured woman away. It’s in Almyran, and he knows Jeralt and Felix will have a hard time reading it, if they can even manage it. Byleth had been the best among the three of them in how quickly they’d picked up the new language.

Essen cranes his neck and reads the note aloud, “to the father of the Demon,

Hand over the false prince, his foreign witch mother, and a sum of ten-million akçe as reparation for the grief their stain upon Almyra has caused the people. Do this, and we will allow you to escape with your unholy spawn and your band of miscreants to return to the land of your wretched goddess.” Then a location for the trade.

This was planned. And telling from the damage done to Anastasia and how shaken she was when he saw her, she’d been tricked into taking Byleth out on the town.

“We’re not handing you over,” Jeralt says, voice firm, “nor your mother.”

Felix grunts in agreement, “I’m going to talk to Anastasia, get more information.”

Essen nods, “I’ll come with you, Jeralt, to speak with my parents.”

A curt nod, and they divide to conquer.

\---

Felix learns from Anastasia that a servant who claimed to like Byleth and the mercs as a whole had suggested the archer show them the city for their birthday. A well-earned break from their duties as retainer and some quality time between the two after months of hardly seeing one another. The enemy had waited until they were both inebriated before making their move, taking Byleth unconscious and sending Anastasia back injured with the note.

An investigation on Nader’s part tracks down the servant and they’re executed for treason. Any malicious acts against those in Essen’s service were as such against the prince himself, and therefore the crown itself. Essen usually has to find a way to not watch executions, but this one’s different. He doesn’t take any joy in the spray of blood or the slump of the body, but he watches it without flinching away, and feels strangely steady in the face of it. This person got Byleth taken from him, likely injured and even drugged somewhere, cold and hungry and-

Essen drags in a breath against the weight of his worry. He’s never been this afraid for another person before, never been attached enough to someone less capable than his parents for this kind of gnawing anxiety in his heart. He resists the urge to press his side to Felix’s for both their sakes. They need to stand strong- there could be more enemies watching, and if they knew he was this invested in a retainer? Well, the price for that would be paid in Byleth’s blood, and he’d never forgive himself- nevermind how it would tear Felix and Jeralt apart from the inside out.

So they plan. The royal family, Jeralt and Felix, the mercenaries, and Nader, all gather behind tightly closed doors for hours at a time until they have a solid scheme to get Byleth back without abiding by the demands in the note. It takes some doing, and a bit of convincing Essen’s father, but they cook up something promising.

They don’t gather anymore people than those already involved. They will meet with the enemy, make a show of compliance, then take them out and bring Byleth back to the palace with them. No money or political hostages will change hands. It’s a risk, hugely so, to take only a small band of mercenaries to protect the Sultan, his wife, his son, and a retainer, to rescue someone like this, but bringing any more manpower would tip off their plan. They’ll just have to take the chance, bank on the kidnappers being weaker and less organized than they are.

It’s not as such. There are many armed soldiers there to meet them, milling about the compound the note directed the royal party to. Essen’s fingers twitch, itching to draw his bow, but he keeps his hands by his side. Felix’s hand is tight around the handle of his sword, face drawn in anger in spite of what Essen is certain must be monumental levels of effort to keep his brow smooth. They’re led into the compound by four guards, and Essen does his best to catalogue the turns they take and where amidst his racing thoughts.

They come to a large room, scarcely furnished- and this must not be the base of operations, because a group this large and organized wouldn’t keep their headquarters so spartan- and the walls are lined with armed guards that file in after the royal party, staring them down. The boss, a man nearly as large as Essen’s own father, sits in a faux-lazy sprawl in a rickety wooden chair, a heap covered in a ragged sheet beside him.

“So,” the man drawls out in Almyran, a self-satisfied sneer stretching across his mouth, “the Sultan finally sees reason.”

Essen’s father is far too dignified a man to rise to bait that weak. He steps forward, and Jeralt follows close behind at a flick of his wrist, a case of money in his hands. It is a testament to the Blade Breaker’s will that he doesn’t glance at the lump on the floor. The Sultan says, “take your spoils and hand over the Demon. I’ll not have common ruffians like you making a mess of my foreign policy this way.”

The boss snorts, audacious, “you should have thought of that before dirtying your domestic policy.” He reaches down to the pile on the floor and grabs hold, hauling up Byleth’s limp body, the sheet falling away to reveal them. “But I must digress. Here, take your pet Demon and banish it from this land, as discussed.”

Essen almost laughs at the man’s wording- there was no discussion- but he’s too preoccupied trying not to make a sound over how Byleth looks. They’re out cold, blood crusted to the side of their face, drool and vomit still sticky on their chin, bruises already clear on their arms and even above the collar of their tunic. It’s only been a day, but they’ve been beaten and drugged and-

The prince forces himself to breathe, resists the urge to look at Felix or Jeralt.

The two men shake hands, and Essen’s father jerks the enemy’s arm just-so, and the crack of bone breaking sets off the entire room. Guards surge forward, Jeralt’s mercenaries meet them, and Jeralt surges forward.

Byleth is tossed to the floor and out of reach, and Essen draws his bow as Felix darts forward. He could hear the crack of their skull meeting the floor, and it turns his guts over with a lurch. He draws an arrow to assist Felix with an enemy, follows him as he forces himself closer to his sibling. It’s slow going, the room is in utter chaos, and the enemy had clearly anticipated some kind of struggle. Byleth is hauled up by two guards, hanging from their arms, vulnerable.

“Kill that thing before they get close!” the boss hollers over the din, still alive, though Essen knows that won’t be for very long with his father on him.

Steel flashes in the lamplight, and Essen takes a blow he didn’t look out for in his horror over watching Byleth die, his side burning with pain.

Only Byleth isn’t dying. In fact, Byleth isn’t even unconscious anymore. They’re upright, legs strong underneath them, and their face is screwed up in unadulterated rage. Essen falls back as Felix comes to his aide, his eyes fixed to Byleth as they fly into motion.

The sternum of one guard shatters under their elbow, the crack and subsequent choking scream of the unfortunate victim of this newfound anger in Byleth signalling the turn of the tides in the room. Essen can pay attention to the space around him now.

Essen is aiming for his- what- fifth shot when someone shouts “forget the plan, subdue the Demon!” Like clockwork, the enemy forces disengage from the royal ones, and descend upon Byleth.

“NO!” Jeralt shouts from across the room, chasing an enemy fighter and impaling them with his spear, kicking the body off and out of his way as he runs to keep his child from being overwhelmed and killed.

But Byleth is still fine. Bleeding a bit? Yes. Still with an uncharacteristic snarl on their face? Also yes. But at some point they’d gotten their hands on a sword, and there’s a growing pile of bodies surrounding them. They don’t fight like they usually do, or even just like an Almyran or like they’re back in Fódlan. Every blow they land is deadly; their movements quick, precise, and backed by inhuman strength.

Essen isn’t even certain it’s Byleth at this point. He follows Felix as he falls in beside Jeralt, and the last of the enemies fall quickly, the floor sticky with blood.

Silence settles heavily over the room for a handful of seconds, and then Byleth’s gaze snaps to Essen, the anger falling off their face like water off a tarp, and point to him, “the prince is poisoned, he will be needing an antidote for a modified venom from a black mamba within an hour. It came from this blade.” They stoop and pick a dagger from the hand of a corpse, and they hand it out for someone to take.

Nader does so, cautiously, and then Byleth staggers, tripping into Jeralt’s arms as the man scrambles to catch his child.

What in the name of the Gods was  _ that? _

\---

Byleth doesn’t wake up for two weeks, and Essen is only bedridden from the poison for a week and a half (he misses his own birthday, but he’s quite frankly just happy to be alive, and he doesn’t want to fathom any festivities at the moment). He spends the three days before they stir keeping Felix and Jeralt company at their bedside. It’s not clear why they’re asleep like this; their injuries healed themselves on the way back to the palace, any drugs would have worn off long ago, and they’ve been tested for every poison under the sun. For all intents and purposes, they should be fine and awake with the rest of them.

It’s a monumental relief when they do rejoin the land of the living. For approximately five minutes, until it’s established that the last thing they remember is being hit over the head. They also keep jumping and darting their gaze around the room at odd times, like there’s something only they can see demanding their attention. Felix and Jeralt are too happy to see them lucid to do anything but ask if they’re okay and move on when they say “yes”. Essen is too fixated on the hole in their memory to miss the odd behavior.

He doesn’t get a chance to pry into it properly, because as soon as Byleth’s on their feet and declared healthy, Jeralt sits all three kids down with Nader and explains what they’ve been talking about while everyone recovers.

His parents- mostly his mother- have agreed to have him taken to Fódlan. Not forever, mind, but… It may as well be, seeing as the criteria for him returning home would be for public dissent of his existence to die down. His hopes aren’t high. Mostly because he can’t really blame the people of Almyra for hating Fódlan. The whole continent is closed-off and aggressive towards all of its neighbors, but especially Almyra. There’s no reason to like them, to trust Essen’s mother or Essen to not be under the influence of that culture. However curious he may be about the other half of his heritage, he can’t say he’s Fódlan’s biggest fan, himself.

But in between packing up his life and stealing as much time with his parents as he can, he makes a decision. He alters his plans, adds probably a thousand extra steps to them, and steels his resolve. His goals in life are lofty and idealistic, and he may not be able to achieve them in his lifetime, but… Maybe, with Byleth on his side and a stalwart supporter in Felix, he can manage to get it started and find someone he can trust to carry on his work when he’s gone.

So the first night on the road, he asks them to help him. He wants so badly to build a world where people like Felix aren’t ignored and dismissed, where people like Byleth can have friends before they hit adulthood, where people like Essen can live without constantly having to look over their shoulder. He dreams of a world where outsiders are let back into society.

“I know it’s a lot to ask,” Essen speaks into the quiet chill of the desert night, “what with Felix having another prince to look after and Byleth being a contract worker, but… I’ll take any help I can get.”

Felix is the first who speaks, keeping his own voice low, “in this world… Would people like Dimitri get the help they need? Would people of status have their suffering ignored just because they supposedly can’t afford to slip up?”

“Ideally, everyone would get the help they need,” Essen says, because that’s part of the problem. If those at the top can’t be human, then they’ll just make more and more mistakes in the long-term, and the people beneath them will suffer. “But we can start with the Tragedy you told me about.” Rooting out the prejudice in one of three regions would be a very solid square one.

“I like this hypothetical world,” Byleth tells him, and when he looks over at them, they’re smiling up at the stars, “I want to see it.”

“We might not get to,” Essen admits, “but we can try to make things better for the next generation, right?”

“It’s sickeningly idealistic,” Felix’s voice has a bite to it, but it’s not doubt or disgust, “but I’ll do what I can. I have no doubt Dimitri would be into the idea enough to support you. When he’s well.”

“Yeah,” Essen smiles up at the moon and sighs, “I think I’d like to work with him.”

Stabilize the Kingdom, form a strong bond between the Kingdom and the Alliance, steadily work on both territories’ prejudices… He thinks they can do it. He-  _ they _ now- will need to figure out the Empire and the Church at some point, but this… Is much better than just reforming the Alliance, busting open the Locket, and coming home.

\---

Byleth keeps getting dizzy spells on the road, but they refuse to be coddled or fussed over. They simply ride on the back of their father;s horse as long as it takes to steady themselves, and then march with the rest of the group once more. They make rounds through the traveling group, much like Nader had on the way here, checking on everyone’s health and morale. Essen worries in the back of his head over the strain they’re putting on themselves, but outwardly thanks them for their efforts. Nader had to fly ahead and Jeralt had to lead his mercenaries and Felix needed to guard Essen, who needed to keep his head down. Byleth was the only one left to assure everyone’s wellbeing, even if it came at the cost of their own.

Essen hopes they’ll stop nearly dropping in the middle of the road when they leave the desert heat behind, but it keeps happening. Felix and Jeralt are beside themselves with anxiety, and Anastasia can’t stop looking guilty when they sway on their feet. Essen even catches them looking into the middle distance as though someone is there, missing conversation because they appear to be listening to something else. These instances make Felix flinch, and when Essen asks, he explains that when he’d spent time waiting for Dimitri to come out of his room after the Tragedy, he could sometimes hear the prince crying for mercy from the names of those who died in Duscur. He worries that Byleth has become similarly afflicted, and Essen can’t even cast reasonable doubt on that fear.

There’s just nothing to be done until they reach Derdriu.

\---

Byleth stabilizes as they cross over the border and the mercenaries return to Fódlan. Essen’s relieved to see them wobble in place or trip over their own feet less. They even stop staring off into space as much, and seem more engaged in conversations. Felix seems a little relieved, so Essen allows himself to relax a little bit, too.

Besides, he has much more to worry about as they finally arrive in Derdriu. It’s been a long month of travel, and the beauty of the floating city is almost lost on Essen, exhausted as he is. He still needs to meet his grandfather, though; make an impression. So he drinks water and tries to make his hair presentable as they wind through the cobblestone streets.

Jeralt peels off the group at the behest of the servants, and Byleth and Felix refuse to leave Essen in the hands of strangers alone as he’s whisked off to get clean and dressed in fresh clothing. He’s infinitely grateful to be able to wash himself while they stand out in the hall.

His grandfather is… A man who inspires a complicated set of emotions in Essen. He clearly doesn’t seem comfortable with looking Essen in the eyes, and he seems to be carrying some heavy regret, but he legitimizes him as his heir, gives him a Fódlan name to hide behind (Claude von Riegan- that’s going to take some getting used to), and assures him he’ll never want for anything under his roof and care. So he wasn’t an ass, but Essen still feels alien in what was to become his new home. Especially with Nader returning home as soon as all the paperwork is settled.

There’s two good things in Essen’s new world, though. His grandfather has called in a favor from the Hero of Daphnel herself to do as Nader did for Felix and Byleth, but with Essen. She’ll be his teacher in Fódlan culture and combat so he can integrate into this foreign society. Also, Byleth is staying with him for a few months still. Their work ban in the Kingdom isn’t up until the end of winter, and it was only mid-fall now. Even though Felix must return to Fearghus, he promises to write them often. Jeralt and his mercenaries are the noble boy’s escort, and they’ll be back when they manage to gather up the half of the company they left behind when they went to Almyra. Essen is delighted that there’s even more of these wonderful characters.

Claude resists the urge to grab Byleth’s hand as they send Felix off. He misses being a trio already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I need something bad to happen  
> Me to myself: Byleth can handle it. fuck them up
> 
> honestly I feel bad that Byleth keeps ending up as my narrative punching bag, but that's what happens when you have Main Character Disease so it's gonna keep happening and I'm so sorry By...
> 
> Next chapter's gonna be way different than usual. Like the format's gonna be straightup not the same at all. I'm gonna have so much fun playing around with how to style it so it looks good and reads properly. I think I'm gonna use it as a way to punctuate between arcs of the story. Which yes that does mean that this is the first arc and it's done! It's over! Chapter after next starts the events of the game!
> 
> I'm also tossing around the idea of having some spinoff drabbles? I was going to make this monster into a series anyways, because I was going to separate the first and second parts of the game into two fics, so it's not like it'd be particularly out of my way to do it. I've just been feeling like I could do more with Jeralt and the mercs, Dimitri and Dedue, Felix's departed mom and Glenn, etc., but can't seem to find the space in here for it. if there's any interest from y'all in that sort of thing, I'll write some stuff for sure!


	8. Around Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the interim of separation, Felix and Claude exchange letters.  
> \---  
>  _We all want to grow with the seeds we will sow  
>  We all want to go with the breeze we will blow  
> We all want to know when we're all meant to go  
> To a place you and I - Will call home_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY FUCK okay alright so
> 
> for the record: FUCK this "limited html" shit I'm gonna mcfreakin lose it. I wanted this to look much, MUCH fucking better than this. I'm so mad.
> 
> Optimal reading for this chapter will be in a slim window or on mobile because of the alternating alignments. I really wanna fucking strangle ao3 right now I tried SO HARD to make this more accessible and also stylized but fucking. whatever I guess!
> 
> Anyways this took 84 fucking years because of formatting and also life happening. I hope this is a nice chapter though I did work very hard on it!!!
> 
> Chapter title and Lyrics from Jonsí

As time wears on, Claude and Felix exchange letters. Parts and pieces are in Almyran, which increases steadily each letter.

* * *

_ Claude, _

_ I’ve reached Fraldarius and am writing, as you asked. Tell Byleth I’m just fine, lest they grow weak from worry. I’m already working on getting myself to Dimitri’s side again. Father has been catching me up on the goings-on while I was away, and it’s… At least Ingrid has come out of her room, and Sylvain appears to still be his same old self. I don’t trust my old man’s accounts of Dimitri’s condition, considering he says he’s “fine”. I know better. My only comfort is knowing he has Dedue, still. _

_ I’m worried. Write soon, so I know you haven’t been killed in the week I have been away. Let me know how my sibling is, too.  _ _ Jeralt _ _ Father is worried about them. _

_ Regards, _

_ Felix _

* * *

**Felix,**

**Byleth graced us all (myself, Judith) with a smile when I told them you made it to Fraldarius territory safely. Both of us hope your friends in Fearghus are as well as they can be. We also wish you the best of luck in returning to your prince’s side as fast as possible. Keep us updated? I may not know Prince Dimitri, and Byleth says they have only met him once before, but if he’s important to you, he’s important to us. Also, I have a personal stake in how well you use my advice. I’m praying to your Goddess for your patience with your father.**

**(Byleth tells me that’s a bad joke, please write back that I am funny as soon as you can, thank you.)**

**Speaking- or writing as the case may be- of Byleth… They’re still out of it, sometimes, but they’re getting better every day. The lapses in memory and staring into space has nearly stopped entirely. They’re getting nightmares and vivid dreams of talking to a girl on some sort of throne now. They told me to tell you to tell Jeralt that the war dreams have returned, and that they’re more detailed. And longer. I don’t know what they’re talking about, but it sounds pretty serious. I’ll continue to keep an eye on them between mind-numbing lectures on this place’s freakish standards for etiquette. How did you learn this stuff as a kid? This is torture, Felix. Torture. I can’t even bounce my leg!**

**Best,**

**Claude (and Byleth)**

**P.S. Tell Prince Dimitri about the dashing noble you met in your travels?**

* * *

_ Claude, _

_ I’ve been “visited” (read: vetted) by Ingrid and Sylvain to ensure I won’t “be kind of a jerk” to Dimitri. I leave for Fhirdiad in a few days, and will likely remain there for the winter to save the grief of travel in the large amounts of snow forecasted for the season. I will write to you when I arrive, and… I hope you would not mind it if I sent you and Byleth updates on him. I may need it to keep me  _ _ sane, motivated, _ _ hopeful about his recovery. _

_ You are not funny. _

_ It’s a relief to hear that they’re improving. Father says to keep an eye on them and to let us know if anything changes. He says to Byleth: “start keeping a journal of the details of your dreams. Code it and show it to only people you trust completely”. I asked him why, but he made me promise to not tell a soul, not even you or Byleth. Needless to say, I’ve got more things to worry about than before. Please, just… Keep an eye out for anyone with an odd interest in Byleth. _

_ Regards, _

_ Felix (and Jeralt) _

_ P.S. I make no promises to be flattering. _

* * *

**Felix,**

**Your last letter wounds me. Byleth has had to console me in the aftermath. A testament to my sense of humor to Dimitri will suffice as reparations for the tears I have spilled over your harsh words.**

**We both wish you luck in assisting in the prince’s recovery. And Byleth says to give him their regards. I dunno why they don’t write their own letters to you, but I guess this is fine too. We miss you around here, by the way. Things aren’t the same without you around to call us weird every other day. Anyways, please do send us updates. I may not know the prince personally, but I know both Byleth and I care about him, since he’s so important to you.**

**I’ll keep an eye out. They’ve kind of** **platoe** **plateaued in the past week or so. The staring into space hasn’t stopped, and sometimes I can hear them muttering to themselves when they think no one’s listening, but they’re not getting dizzy spells and waking up in tears anymore. I think this might be as good as it gets. They won’t talk to me about it, and they say they don’t remember the time they spent as a captive, or even the fight afterward.**

**No one’s creeping on your sibling.**

**With love,**

**Claude (and Byleth)**

* * *

_ Claude, _

_ You are an unbelievable dramatic. I told Dimitri that the up-and-coming Leicester heir is occasionally funny. When he tries. He says he’d like me to read one of your jokes to him in your next letter. If it’s not good, I will be forced to deem you as hopeless. _

_ He’s not well. He doesn’t space out like Byleth does, he completely checks out of reality. It’s like a film with things drawn over it has been slipped over his eyes. Only a firm hand on his shoulder or arm can pull him out of it. Dedue has been telling me about his condition in my time away from his side, and we’re… Already working out a system to keep him with us as much as possible. He said Dimitri has had spells where he’s been worse- worse!- than this, than our mission where he slaughtered mere bandits and left their guts strewn on the ground. I don’t want to believe him. I’m afraid that if I believe he can be in such a state, it will bring it to life right in front of me, and I’m not sure I could stand seeing him like that. Not without Byleth here. _

(In steadier handwriting.)

_ My apologies- I’ve taken a day to calm down. Dedue has advised me to focus on what I can do to keep him out of that state. Dimitri struggles to sleep, forgets to eat and doesn’t typically enjoy food these days. But his condition stabilizes when he is taken care of, so we hound him to take his meals, train with him extensively to wear him out, and take tea (chamomile) with him before bed. I find myself sleeping better than I have since losing my brother due to this routine, which I find is a boon when Dimitri is having a difficult day. _

_ None of this has been easy. I can hear him mutter, too. He screams in his sleep, sometimes. The castle staff and royal guard have been instructed by Lady Cornelia to ignore it. I don’t trust her because of that alone. Dedue doesn’t, either. One time, Dimitri stared at me for what felt like an hour crushed into a minute, and then called me by my brother’s name. I… Don’t know how much of this I will be able to manage, if that keeps up. But I’ll keep trying. I can’t leave him nearly alone again. He needs someone who the entire country won’t scorn on his side. _

_ Sorry, I didn’t intend to write so much. I’m worried, but I’m managing, for now. How are things in Leicester? _

_ I miss you too, _

_ Felix _

* * *

**Felix,**

**Tell him this one: I recently had an exam on my knowledge of Fódlan’s Locket. My tutors gave me an A for a fort. (I hope it makes him laugh.)**

**I don’t know where to begin with the rest of your letter. It sounds like you have your work cut out for you. I’m sure it helps him to just have someone who knew him before supporting him and being understanding of his condition around. It’s honestly disgusting that his vassal and his childhood friend have to help him through this instead of a professional.**

**Dedue sounds like a good guy. I think I’d like to meet him. I’ve started learning about the Tragedy of Duscur due to some well-placed questions on my part, and I have to keep myself from poking holes in the flimsy framing of the Duscur people. It’s unforgivable, what’s been done to them.**

**Leicester is… Familiar, in some ways? Almost none of them are good, but at least it’s hard to be homesick when you’re laughing over how weak a poison is, I guess. Byleth doesn’t find it as funny, but I’ll take a stomach ache and a fever for a day or two over being bedridden for a week or two.**

**I’ve met some of the other noble kids. The ones with parents at the Round Table, at least. The Gloucester hier is a caricature of Fódlan’s stuffy nobility, and it’d be a lot funnier if he wasn’t such a wyver’s ass to me all the damn time. At least Hilda Goneril is bearable to be around. She acts like a total airhead, but I can tell she’s sharp as a tack. And she’s nice to me. Miarianne Edmund hasn’t spoken to me at all, but I can’t tell if it’s because she’s scared of me because I’m different, or if she’s scared her voice will take up too much space. Either way, I hope she can muster up a few words sooner rather than later. If I can get her to come around, she seems like she’d be nice enough.**

**Byleth’s doing about the same. The only interest anyone’s shown in them is an interest in kissing them, or more.**

**Tell me about Fhirdiad? And Fearghus as a whole, while you’re at it, I guess. Textbooks and tutors are just way too dry here if you ask me. I like learning about chivalry through hearing about how dumb you think it is.**

**Best,**

**Claude**

* * *

_ Claude, _

_ That joke was horrible. I’m so disappointed that Dimitri actually laughed at it. Dedue even quirked a smile at it. I am surrounded by idiots. _

_ Dedue is, in my firm opinion, one of the best people in this castle. Though, that may not be saying much… He’s kept Dimitri with us this long, which I think deserves a medal of honor. I’ve told him about you (in general. I will not tell a single soul about your identity without your express permission), and he says he would like to meet you, too. _

_ Byleth is right, you being poisoned in any capacity isn’t funny at all. Even if it does make me feel better to know you are made of far stronger stock than most Leicester nobles. Hardly a comfort when all I can picture is the time I had to pour water down your throat by hand for a week, though. _

_ Ah, yes. Lorenz. He’s probably just throwing a tantrum over you usurping him. He was slated as the next leader of the Alliance, due to his family’s influence and the Reigan house being without and heir before. It’s best to just ignore him, he’s full of shit. Just focus on learning how to run the Alliance so that you can pull the rug out from under him and all the other stupid naysayers when you’re good at all that politicking. Hilda is spoiled and lazy, but she’s not a bad person, or stupid. You’d probably do well to befriend her. Marianne is a bit of an unknown- I’ve never met her, and I haven’t heard much about her. She doesn’t seem like a threat to… Anyone, really. Even with her adoptive father being as freakishly ambitious as he is. _

_ Dedue and I have a new system to help Dimitri, though I won’t say the details of what it is for the sake of respecting his privacy. It generally keeps him more grounded by confirming what is and isn’t real. He has yet to open up to me about what exactly he sees and hears, but I think it’s only a matter of time. I hope it’s only a matter of time. I hope my absence from his life hasn’t made me untrustworthy to him. _

_ Fhirdiad is beautiful. I’m told it hasn’t always been, and that Cornelia was the one to make it the glarious capital city it is today, but I still don’t fucking trust her. It’s cold, even for me, with how far north and how high in the mountains it is. But the snow is brighter up here, the air tastes cleaner. The sunset isn’t quite so beautiful anywhere else. _

_ I’m not sure if I should be flattered that you like my rants about how vapid chivalry is. You should tell me what your tutors aren’t teaching you about Fearghus, or what you need help understanding. I don’t want to repeat shit you already know. _

_ Regards, _

_ Felix _

* * *

**Felix,**

**One day you will appreciate my genius, and I will wave these mean letters in your face and you will never live any of this down. You love all of us, anyways.**

**I’m sure we can figure something out to recognize Dedue’s service to the crown. I’ll have something commissioned with some of my dear old grandfather’s ample coin and give it to him when we meet.**

**When you put the whole me-being-poisoned thing that way… I see what you and Byleth mean. I hope you know that I don’t like to make you two worry like that. Brushes with death aren’t something I seek out, I promise. I just try to downplay things because it’s what I’m used to, I guess.**

**Moving on from being uncomfortably honest… So glad half of our letters are in Almyran now. If some snoop read that, I’d die of embarrassment, I think. Thank you for the run-down on my peers, seriously. Hilda’s definitely going to be a friend of mine. We get along weirdly well. I’m not entirely sure how to deal with Lorenz yet. If you have any advice or ideas that don’t involve me causing problems for my grandfather or my future by directly insulting him or something, please feel free to enlighten me. I’m gonna need all the help I can get with him. Including getting Marianne into my back pocket, I’ve decided on as well. Hilda says she’s reserved for very private reasons, none of which have to do with me being a little too dark to just be tanned (even in the Floating City with all its sunshine!). Lorenz seems to take well to her, and I think she could be a good friend if I can coax her out of her shell. I caught her talking to birds when Margrave Edmund was visiting my grandfather, and it was honestly adorable. I think Byleth cooed.**

**If it makes you feel any better, I think he’ll come around. You said that you two were inseparable as kids, right? A bond like that doesn’t just go away, and you’re reaching out to him now that you, well, can. Again, I may not know the guy, but he seems like the kind of person who would reach back for that kind of familiarity. I hope that’s a vote of confidence instead of me just taking a shot in the dark.**

**To make things easier, maybe you can talk about more positive things regarding him in your letters as well? Like… What's he like to do for fun these days? What are his moments of clarity like? Are there any signs of recovery, like smiling more or sleeping easier? It can’t be encouraging to only write about your worries.**

**Byleth’s the same as ever, but there’s a couple of people in town that have been poking around after them when we’re out and about. It’s only weird because usually it’s just some kids from the market who want to swing around on their arms that come up to us in public, but these folks have been asking questions. Nothing too personal, of course, but I’m keeping an eye on it in case it’s someone with a grudge against the Ashen Demon trying to suss them out, or whoever Jeralt is worried about. Let me know if you need more information. I can get you descriptions post-haste.**

**Wow, Fhirdiad sounds… Nice, actually. Other than the cold. I can’t wait to see snow. It rains all the time here, and even though we’re slated for a mild winter, I’ve got my fingers crossed that I’ll get to see some frost and ice. I’ve been seeing my breath during the day lately. What’s your favorite part of Fhirdiad? The castle? Fearghus as a whole? I like the market here in Derdriu; it’s the perfect cross-section of the Alliance, I think. Byleth and I like to hole up in this sunroom not too far from my quarters on off days.**

**Honestly, they’ve only really told me what you said back in Almyra. Less, even. They’re really focused on educating me on the Alliance, obviously. I want to know more about your home. It makes me miss mine that much less.**

**Best,**

**Claude**

* * *

_ Claude, _

_ This letter has to stay short. I will follow up on it later, but Jeralt needs to know if the people prying into Byleth’s business wear Church of Seiros garb as soon as possible. He’s circled his way around Fódlan, and has stopped in a town in the southwest of the Alliance to await further information. _

[A drawing of the Crest of Seiros]

Above is the symbol to look out for, just in case you haven’t gotten to the subject of Crests yet.

_ Write soon, _

_ Felix _

* * *

**Fe,**

**They’re dripping in Church regalia. They’re getting creepier by the encounter. I don’t like what’s happening and I don’t like that I don’t know what this is about. Byleth seems wary and either refuses to talk about it or says they don’t know what this is all about, either. Please, at least let us know if we need to avoid these people.**

**Respond quickly,**

**CR**

* * *

_ C, _

_ Avoid them. I can’t tell you what they want with Byleth, but it’s nothing good. Byleth needs to pack their bags. Father’s on his way to take them with the company again. Tell your grandfather to arrange for a new right hand for you soon. Please. I don’t want you unprotected. I’ll leave Dimitri in Dedue’s care if I have to. Tell me when Byleth has made it away from these prying figures safely so I can get some damn sleep. _

_ Stay safe, _

_ F _

* * *

**Fe,**

**Byleth made it out of Derdriu safely. Jeralt came and took them just last night under a new moon, and the Church has been scratching their heads over them all day. Jeralt says they (the company and your family) need to disappear into the woodwork for a while.**

**If you leave your prince’s side, I’ll spike your food with laxatives for a month. Hilda has volunteered to visit me frequently, and I can watch my own back. Also, did you forget that Judith, the Hero of Daphnel herself, is the one whipping me into lordly shape? I’ll be fine.**

**Take care,**

**CR**

* * *

_ Claude, _

_ Thank you. They can scratch their heads for all eternity if it means they never get their hands on Byleth. I’ll keep my ear to the ground for their return. _

_ I’m going to worry regardless, you unbelievable moron. You are also my prince, in case you’ve forgotten. In fact, I think that perhaps the new Alliance heir should make a visit to the Crown Prince of the Holy Kingdom. For diplomatic purposes, of course. Not just to visit his old retainer to ease his troubled thoughts and to finally make a first-hand impression on the prince and his vassal that he so wishes to meet. Clearly. _

_ Let me know what you think, _

_ Felix _

* * *

**Felix,**

**I think it’s a great idea, but my grandfather and Judith thinketh not so much. I can’t come out there, I’m sorry. Try not to worry too much, alright? I promise I’ll have someone send word if something serious happens and I really need you.**

**Can you tell me about Fearghus, now that the danger’s gone? I’ll confess that not having Byleth around is making my homesickness worse than ever. I’d even take anecdotes from or about your friends in Fearghus. Anything to make the distance feel any less awful.**

**Best,**

**Claude**

* * *

_ Claude, _

_ We are all immeasurably disappointed. Dimitri had actually lit up at the prospect of showing you around. It was disgusting. How dare your wardens crush his fledgeling dreams of being a good little host. _

_ Ah, right. I’d forgotten about that. _

_ My favorite part of Fhirdiad is also the markets, actually. Not because of the people, like your love for the one in Derdriu, but because I remember riding on Glenn’s (my late brother) shoulders the day before he left for Duscur with Dimitri. He’d bought me my first real sword that day, and made me promise that I’d be able to knock him down a peg or two with it when he returned. _

_ My favorite place in the castle is the gardens. There’s this weeping willow that Dimitri, Sylvain, Ingrid, and myself had all fallen asleep under on a summer afternoon, once. I still like to read under it on days where Dimitri is well enough to function on his own, mostly. He smiled when he caught me napping under it when he came to fetch me, as it had started to snow. That was during when Byleth was being badgered by the Church. _

_ My favorite place in all of Fearghus might just be the tree I saw Byleth climb that first time. Not only was it a fruit tree that my friends enjoyed in years past, but it was when they and I became friends, I believe. I miss them horribly. _

_ You have a good point, writing about nicer things is making this easier. Thank you. _

_ Dimitri’s recovery has been rocky, but his moments of clarity have been more frequent as of late. I hate this streak of poeticism, but the only way I can describe it is patches of sunlight amidst rain and storms. He does smile more, and he laughs at little inconveniences instead of tensing up like a bowstring being drawn. He’s taken to horseback riding, and even though it’s more training, he really seems to enjoy it. Some of his mutterings and the images he sees have eased because of it. I think it’s because he feels closer to the brighter memories of his father, rather than feeling stuck in the Tragedy. It’s good to see. _

_ Anything else you’d like to know? _

_ Regards, _

_ Felix _

* * *

**Felix,**

**I have brought Dimitri’s disappointment to Judith’s attention. She did not seem to be swayed.**

**Wow, all those places have some pretty heavy memories for you, huh? I hope Byleth needing to be low-profile like this isn’t affecting you too badly.**

**Without them around, I’ve taken a liking to the gardens here, myself. I’ve picked up a hobby. I found out I could make poisons from some of the plants here. And medicine, but the poisons are more interesting to me. Especially mild ones I can slip to Lorenz for a laugh.**

**We did finally get snow here! It’s beautiful! Why didn’t you tell me it sparkled in the sun like that? And it really is just as cold as you said! Hilda dumped a bunch down the back of my coat, I think I nearly caught a cold. She made me apology cocoa. It was amazing.**

**See, that’s some good news amidst all the recent mess. I’m glad things are looking up for you guys. Also, let it be known that I find your poetic streak incredibly charming. Oh, Felix! Sweep me off my feet with flowery prose! I am going to swoon!**

**Yes, I’d like to hear about Dedue! If all Dimitri does is train, let him know I find him horribly boring. What are his dear vassal’s interests and hobbies?**

**Best,**

**Claude**

* * *

Felix tells Claude all about Dedue. How he has a quiet, warm, deep love for his lost family. How he is an amazing cook, and that Claude would find his dishes refreshing amidst the blander fare of Fódlan dishes compared to Almyran cuisine. He regales him with tales of Sylvain’s womanizing. He tells him about Ingrid’s determination to be a knight right beside Glenn.

When the time comes, they tell one another that they will be going to the Officer’s Academy at Garreg Mach monastery. Felix to go with Dimitri and Dedue, and to build his skills and strength. Claude, to look into what the Church’s death grip on Fódlan and her borders, and what it wants with Byleth, if he can.

They are both eager to reunite. Even if Byleth won’t be there, they can still work together. Claude can still make nice with Dimitri. Felix can have someone who truly understands him back by his side. They won’t be half a continent away, writing in a foreign script to feel less alone against the tasks they face down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't even fix the punctuation for Claude's parts I'm gonna mcfreakin lose it. ugh
> 
> I hope I wrote the lads alright. I'm sorry this took so long. I just hope you all enjoyed
> 
> yes the last paragraph is foreshadowing. also yes I am going to do drabbles! just... later. I'm fuckin TIRED
> 
> thank y'all for your patience and comments and everything just..... <3


	9. Nantes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two thirds of their little triad reunite at the Officer's Academy. Claude's got a long list of mysteries to pry into while he's here, and a lot of friends to make in between bouts of snooping. Both lists keep growing, and just when he was sure it couldn't get any more complicated and difficult, answers tossed in his face with Byleth's return only lead to even more questions, and now he's gotta watch his former retainer's back.
> 
> Ah, well. At least he won't get bored.  
> \---  
>  _Well it's been a long time, long time now  
>  since I've seen you smile  
> And I'll gamble away my fright  
> and I'll gamble away my time_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *RATTLES MY CAGE* HELLO READERS I LOVE THIS CHAPTER
> 
> also I have a Tumblr for my writing/nerd shit now! it's fantasy-moron please talk to me about stuff
> 
> I started putting up those drabbles too! check out the second part of the series this fic is in now: "Another Eternity" is where a lot of this AU is gonna end up fleshed out beyond what I'm doing here. it starts with Jeralt being a new dad
> 
> enjoy some wholesome hours and Byleth continuing to have Main Character Disease

Even when they’re expecting it, the fact that they’re reuniting only half a year after fate pried them apart feels… Surreal.

The time between then and now may have been short, but things have changed. They have changed. Claude has had to shield himself more than he did in Almyra. He’s not a prince kept largely in a sprawling palace for safety. He’s the grandson of a duke under constant public scrutiny. The attempts on his life have been milder, sure, but navigating a foreign land he knows so little of and its state of isolation? It required a much more careful hand.

He’s grown, learned. So has Felix. When he sees the Fraldarius heir across the Reception hall while all of the students are “encouraged to intermingle as part of the orientation day curriculum”, he already sees how different he is. He looks more tired, but no less alert. He’s holed up with his class, standing close as he can to Dimitri without seeming like a second guard next to who Claude assumes is Dedue. Claude wants to go over there under the pretense of meeting with the prince as fellow house leaders, take Felix, and sneak out. He sees his hair’s long enough to put into a bun now, and how he’s a bit taller, but he needs to investigate his friend for other changes. Does he have any new scars? Are the lines under his eyes deeper, or is that just the lighting?

He does want to meet Dimitri, too, really. And he wants to sit and listen to Dedue talk about Duscur. But-

“Are you listening to anything I’m saying, or is our illustrious house leader too lost in his own thoughts to be bothered?” Lorenz cuts into his consideration of Felix.

Claude flashes an easy smile, “sorry, sorry. I was just thinking of mingling between houses.”

Lorenz scoffs, but Hilda coos with interest. She might just be his hero, “not a bad idea, Claude! What do you think, Marianne? Isn’t the prayer shawl on that Lions girl over there super cute? We should go talk to her!”

“Her name is Mercedes,” Felix’s voice comes out of thin air, it seems like, and Claude barely manages to not jump a foot in the air, “and it seems we had similar ideas. Dimitri asked me to see if you had time to talk with him. He wants to get acquainted with his fellow house leaders.”

Hilda links the arm she doesn’t already have around Marianne with Claude’s elbow, “sorry, Lorenz! No time to listen to you talk about boring stuff right now!”

Claude does not laugh, but he wants to. He tosses a wink at Lorenz for good measure, “I encourage all my Deer to make nice with the other houses. It’s good for relations between the three nations of Fódlan down the line!”

He’s a bit worried that his friends can read his mind, but they’re also his heroes right now, so he’s sure they’ll use their hypothetical powers for good.

\---

As the students are released to explore the monastery, Felix not-subtly-at-all decides he needs Claude for something. Alone. Good thing neither of them care for rumors (except, of course, Claude cares about the information he can get from them). Maybe Prince Dimitri will make a feasible cover story for them? That sounds like something he would do, Claude thinks.

Felix herds Claude to the dubious seclusion of a rampart, empty of other people and tucked out of the way around a pillar. Damn, Felix must have planned this in advance, looked for a place they could talk and reunite properly, away from prying eyes. Claude feels a little flattered that he’s remained so important to him, and a little amused he hadn’t planned a better way to slip off.

It doesn’t matter, really, because they hug. Claude’s been largely bereft of physical contact since Byleth had to go into hiding, and he finds he can’t help but sink into his friend’s arms a bit. It’s such a relief to have someone he can properly, truly trust within arm’s reach again. He’d missed Felix and his blunt commentary and his stupid, bleeding heart. The letters had helped, but this?

He squeezes Felix in his arms when he tries to pull away, “just a little bit more.”

Felix’s hands settle on his back again, and he murmurs in his lilted Almyran, “yeah, okay.”

Claude leaves two tiny pricks of dampness on Felix’s shoulder when they finally pull away from each other, because actually  _ hearing _ his mother tongue had been just enough to make him cry. He wipes his eyes and sighs heavily, speaking in Almyran back to him, self-indulgent, “how are you?”

Felix huffs, gives Claude a lopsided grin, “I’ve been better, but I’ve also been a lot worse.” He looks away, out at the hazy horizon over the mountains, “I… I think I’ll be better with you around.”

Claude coos, leaning into Felix’s space, like old times, “you’re real sweet, Fe.”

“Shut up,” Felix shoves him without real force, and he doesn’t budge, just to spite him. Byleth wouldn’t humor him if they were here, either. “Your smile is ugly when it’s fake, by the way. Did you get inspiration for it from the black, mysterious uniform?”

Claude gets half a second to laugh at the callback to his excitable gawking over Byleth’s retainer uniform back in Almyra before Felix’s attention snaps away from the scenery, back to him, “we should get back. Dimitri won’t cover for us forever.”

“How pragmatic,” Claude teases in Fódlan Common, just to be contrary.

Felix rolls his eyes and walks off without him. Claude is suddenly painfully aware of Byleth’s absence in how the hothead of the three of them had to be the one to get the two of them on track. He takes a slow, deep breath, and follows after Felix. He shouldn’t well on that too much.

Byleth may not be here, but… It was for the best. It’d be odd for a while, but he’s sure that he and Felix will adjust.

\---

Dimitri is eager to make up for how he hadn’t been able to give Claude a tour of Fhirdiad. He flusters as he asks if Claude would like to explore Garreg Mach with him, and smiles when he accepts. Dedue joins as Dimitri’s persistent shadow, which Claude finds himself very excited for, and just as they’re about to set off, there’s a tap on his elbow.

“Ah, please be excusing my… me,” Petra, he recalls, is the name of the girl politely bowing to them, “I was over-hearing your speaking of a tour, and I was hoping that I could be joining your group.”

Dimitri lights up, “oh, Princess Petra, from Brigid, correct? You are more than welcome to come with us as we get a feel for the layout of the monastery.”

“Yes, that would be my title,” Petra flushes under the attention to her status, like she’s not used to having her station respected, “but I will not be needing you to be so formal. I am a student here only.”

“That makes all of us, Petra,” Claude assures her, then offers his arm with a wink, “shall we?”

She blinks at him, then smiles and takes his arm, and falls into step with all of them as Dimitri insists they all call him by his first name.

Petra asks a lot of interesting questions about various spaces in the monastery, makes comments about how different the architecture and layout and customs of the place is when compared to the temples dedicated to the gods of Brigid. Claude has to quash his envy for her ability to be open about how different she is to everyone. He knows it must come at a price for her. Besides, he’s having fun learning about the Flame Spirit, which she has a tattoo dedicated to on her cheek, she tells them. He’d thought it was makeup, but he likes the idea of a tatto much batter.

There’s some questions Dimitri can’t answer, and Claude proposes at lunch, where they reunite with Felix, Hilda, and Marianne, that they head to the library to see if it’s got any answers for them.

Unfortunately, that plan is yanked to a careening halt when Seteth comes to collect the House Leaders. They have a task to attend to.

\---

Okay, not a task. A mission. They’re going to go on a small mission to follow a rumor about bandit activity around Remire Village, a tiny Adrestian town near its border with the Kingdom. It’s not very far, and it’s mostly to decide if the top candidate for filling in the position of the third and final professor at the Academy is a good fit for the job.

It’s not supposed to be dangerous, and they’re going to be heavily chaperoned, so the Archbishop Lady Rhea says, her smile curling a little eerily at the edges, like she’s not giving them the full picture. Claude only picks that out because he’s used to seeing it in the mirror. He’d feel a little silly and paranoid about it, if Seteth didn’t seem a bit more stiff than usual. Or if Alois, the easygoing and enthusiastic knight leading the contingency of soldiers that will be watching over the three House Leaders, just in case, wasn’t fidgeting in his boots. If Shamir, their future professor, wasn’t standing without the casual cock to her hip that she’d had when he’d seen her in the reception hall with all the students.

Maybe he’s seeing things, or reading into it wrong, but he’s got a bad feeling. If the air was agitated instead of nervous, he’d write it all off as a spat between peers, but it doesn’t seem to be the case. All the adults here are anxious in some way, and he doesn’t like it.

Claude hopes he’s dead wrong, and that this is nothing.

\---

“Claude,” Dimitri pulls him aside and waves a curious Edelgard off with a sheepish, sad look to him. Another damn mystery in this monastery to wonder about, “I hope I’m not being intrusive, but I wanted to ask you about Felix.”

Claude blinks, leans back into the hands he cradles the back of his head in, “I thought you were childhood friends, your Princeliness. Felix and I are just penpals.”

Dimitri shakes his head, purses his lips, nervous, “that’s what he told me, and… Well, I do know him well. Better than most, I like to hope, so i could tell he wasn’t being totally truthful. I don’t mean to pry into his business, exactly, just…”

Claude watches as his fellow prince picks his words carefully, like he’d recited this conversation over and over, and now that it was happening, forgot his lines. He waits for him to speak, but feels he needs to encourage him when the moment stretches on too long, “you don’t need to be too polite with me. If I feel like Felix won’t kill me for answering your question, I will.”

Dimitri puffs out this little nervous giggle, which is ridiculous for such a straight-laced guy, “yes, of course… I was… Hoping you could tell me how he was while he was away. He mentioned he met you in his travels outside of the Kingdom, and… Well, we had not parted on very good terms, to say the least.” He rubs the back of his neck, staring intently at his shoes, “I was worried he’d been so disgusted with me that he had to flee Fearghus itself, and then he came back, and…” He shakes his head, “well, he was different.”

Well, what an unexpected turn of events. Dimitri, Claude knew, was a bit of a vital point for Felix, but having it thrown at him so clearly that it was mutual? Well, he’d have to chew on this one for a while.

But not before he smoothed this poor soul’s feathers over. Felix could thank him later.

“Dimitri,” it’s the first time he’s used the prince’s name to his face, and it gets the blond to make eye contact, “I won’t violate his privacy, but I will say that Felix wasn’t mad at you. Upset about the circumstances and worried about you? Yes, but… He never said anything bad about you.”

He feels like he’s said too much, and that Felix will surely strangle him for this, but Dimitri’s shoulders lower from his ears, and his eyes are wide, like he can’t believe it. “Please tell me you’re not joking, Claude,” he pleads, vulnerable now that he hasn’t been dealt the blow he was expecting.

Claude shakes his head, “no. I’m a troublemaker, not cruel. Just… Try to talk to him about it, okay? He’ll probably open up about it if you ask nicely.”

Dimitri wrinkles his nose in consideration, then nods, setting his jaw in determination.

Claude finds himself with a new bowstring before they set out on their mission, as a thank-you. Cute.

\---

Claude was right. He was fucking  _ right _ . Things were off, and he was  _ so fucking right to be suspicious _ .

Good thing he’s used to people trying to kill him in his sleep. He’s on his feet about three seconds after one of these (stupid, ugly, wholly un-stealthy) bandits blew it by stepping on a branch. It’s comical, almost, that such a cliché happened. He runs, and when Dimitri and Edelgard follow suit (and- wait- where’s Shamir?), he splits off from them to find some high-ground. Anything.

What he finds is the village they were supposed to arrive at late the next morning. He’s heaving for air, and he’d be shocked that his fellow House Leaders followed him and kept up with him for so long through the brush if he had the damn energy for it. He doesn’t even know how long they’ve been running, but it doesn’t matter. They’re still in danger.

He jogs up to the gates of Remire, waving down the guard stationed there, “hey-”  _ wheeze _ “-help!”

A lance tilts towards him, and he stops a respectable distance from the guard, “what’s going on? What’s a kid in fancy clothes doing out here at this time of the morning?”

Oh, shit, it’s morning now? He glances at the horizon, seeing the sky is, indeed, getting brighter. Dimitri jogs up beside him, “three of us, actually, and we need your help-” he gulps down air, hands on his knees.

Edelgard finishes their collective plea, “we’re being pursued by bandits. They ambushed us while we were asleep in our camp. We don’t know where our chaperone went.” She pants, steadier than either boy with her, between sentences.

The guard curses, “I’ll get the boss. Sit tight.”

The boss, as it turns out is  _ Jeralt. _ And with him? Byleth. And Shamir. What the  _ fuck. _

They have no time to clear up the air of recognition between Jeralt, Byleth, Claude, and Dimitri. Or the confusion. The bandits catch up, and they have to fight.

Claude would kill for Felix to be here right now. Byleth still fights like they did back in Almyra. It makes him a little giddy, to see they’re still so sharp as they save Edelgard’s skin from the bandit’s leader, who they’d been so sure was down for the count. Like they knew what was coming.

He has to bite his tongue to keep from greeting Byleth how he wants to. Almost asks Dimitri to physically hold him back from hugging them. They keep glancing between the two princes, like they;re having the same dilemma about both of them.

Dimitri breaks the restraint on the subject for all of them, “ah, could you be Felix’s friend from over a year ago? Byleth, was it? I thought I had recognized you, but with the imminent danger, I didn’t want to bring it up.”

Byleth nods, but they don’t smile. They don’t frown either, they’re just… Blank. More so than when they’d met, and it’s definitely a stark difference from when they’d been with him in Derdriu. It makes his heart sink, a little, how unaffected their tone is, “it’s good to see you again, Prince Dimitri. You look well.”

Well, Claude may as well get cozy again, “what am I, By, chopped liver?”

Byleth looks to him, a tiny, familiar smile spreading across their face. It’s a relief to have even that much, “no, Claude. It’s good to see you, too.”

“You all know each other?” Edelgard asks, her eyes narrowing.

Byleth shrugs off her suspicion, nodding towards where their father is speaking in hushed, tense tones with Shamir, “the troupe is fairly well-known. I was hired by Kingdom and Alliance nobles alongside my father in our travels. I’ve met plenty of important people.”

“But two of the three most important heirs in Fódlan?” Edelgard won’t be dismissed so easily, “you must be rather special.”

Byleth’s hand goes to the back of their neck, and Claude can suddenly see how nervous they are. They glance off to Shamir again, wary, “by association, maybe.”

Claude almost rolls his eyes. Humble as ever.

“Hey!” a familiar voice calls through the early morning light. Alois runs up to the scene, cutting the reunion short even as he pauses to order the knights at his back to go after any lingering bandits. Jeralt and Shamir move in to stand beside the group of young’uns.

Alois skids to a halt in front of Jeralt, “oh, Captain, I’m so sorry.”

Jeralt shoots Byleth a meaningful look, and they gather up the prince and princess to give the adults privacy. Claude has slipped into Jeralt’s shadow, intent on eavesdropping. Claude trails them until he can slip behind a tree to eavesdrop. The other three keep walking, Byleth launching into some of their aforementioned travels.

“I wouldn’t have come ahead to warn you if I knew those bandits would attack,” Shamir says once Byleth’s voice fades enough.

“None of this is either of your faults,” Jeralt says, decisive. “Just tell me if there’s any way I can take Byleth and run.”

Alois sounds haunted, guilt-ridden, “the students saw you, and I know some of the knights saw Shamir with you. They saw Byleth, too, and they… They were after them, Captain. For Lady Rhea.”

Jeralt breathes deep, “you both did your best to protect us. There’s nothing for it, now. What can you tell me about what she wants with them? Anything new?”

“No,” Shamir sounds annoyed, “just the same nonsense about a new Saint.”

Jeralt curses, loudly, “kid, come out.”

Claude steps into view, “yeah?”

“Get the others. Don’t breathe a word, Byleth will know what’s happening,” the man orders.

“On it,” Claude throws a sloppy, playful salute and jogs after his friend and peers.

The looks of resignation on Jeralt and Byleth’s faces turn his stomach. The knights return with the blood of a few straggling bandits on their blades, and they seem so energized when they spot Byleth. Reverent when they see Jeralt. He keeps quiet as he pieces this larger picture together.

Rhea wants Byleth? For what? And Jeralt’s had people on the inside of the Church this whole time? At least he knew, a little bit, why they’d have to go into hiding now. But how was Byleth supposed to be a new Saint? What was going to happen to them when they reached the monastery tomorrow afternoon? Why did it seem that Seteth, Rhea’s right hand, might be on Jeralt’s side in this?

Claude shakes his head and tunes into Dimitri’s babbling to Byleth beside him. He’d have to wait and do some digging.

For now, he’s just excited to have Byleth back. Felix will worry, since he’s sure he still knows more than Claude about all this, but he’ll be happy to have his family back, too. They could watch their back.

Ah, irony. The retainer needs their prince to keep them safe.

Claude has his work cut out for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the band's back together babey!!!! time to get into the fucking plot of the game, finally
> 
> I will graze over stuff that's largely canon-compliant. this is an AU fic and a character study, not a retelling of stuff most of us have played through before. like 6 times for me personally (I have. a problem)
> 
> I look forward to reading and replying to your comments! hope you liked this chapter as much I I liked writing it because Claude is so fun to write and I Finally got to write Dimitri For Real


	10. Abbey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth returns to the place of their birth, and it's all they can do to keep calm in the face of their family's worry for their safety. They may know as much as their father does, now, but the way Lady Rhea looks at them makes even Sothis uneasy. They just have to find a way to not play directly into the Archbishop's hands while still getting to the bottom of their very existence. They also need to keep their family safe, teach a class of teenagers what it means to kill, and keep two wayward princes from straying down unsavory paths.
> 
> At least keeping Claude on track should be easy enough.  
> \---  
>  _I am something  
>  I have been something  
> I was born something  
> What could I be?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my broad outline had Claude hours for like 5 chapters straight and I realized. Byleth hasn't had the spotlight in a hot minute. so fuck you @ past me we're going off the fucking rails
> 
> jokes aside hello I'm so happy to bring you: Byleth having a time as we finally hit the plot of the game. yeet
> 
> as of 3/30/2020: I have updated chapters 5, 6, 7 (the Almyra chapters) because after reading a post outlining how poorly many fans have handled Claude and his character, I felt that i may have been bordering on some Not Great themes, so I went over some stuff and tried to fix what jumped out at me. there are a few key differences in certain spots, so I encourage y'all to re-read, if you have the time!
> 
> also I hope you're all doing okay during the pandemic. it's been hard on my end, for sure, and I'm in a somewhat decent situation life-wise, so I can only imagine what sort of shit others are going through at the moment. I hope this chapter gives y'all a break from life for a bit, if you need it. stay as safe as you can, everyone

Byleth has been raised to put first impressions at a high value. After all, as a traveling mercenary, it can be the difference between getting a job that’ll feed you and your troupe for a while, or going hungry for just as long; or, sometimes, working for an insufferable asshole not worth their weight in gold, or doing business with a decent client. That’s why, in spite of the whole Ashen Demon rumor mill (and how little they care about it), they do try to keep a certain level of respectability about them. They don’t care if people think they’re dangerous, no, but they do care if a client thinks they’re capable and professional.

So, suffice to say, Rhea is completely fucking blowing hers. Byleth feels like they need a shower with how her eyes keep running up and down their body. Any scars that are visible, she seems to glare at as though they’ve personally offended her. The level of reverence in her voice when she calls them “my dear child” (and similar such nonsense) almost makes them shudder. It’s all very creepy, especially considering that this is their first real meeting, and what Byleth already knows about her and her relation to them.

That hadn’t been a fun conversation. Byleth felt like they’d just set themselves to rights when Jeralt and the mercs had come and swept them away from Derdriu. He’d fussed over them-  _ fussed! _ Jeralt!- when they’d been knocked back into a bit of a stupor when he’d told them about the Church of Sieros. Lady Rhea, the manhunt for Byeth, his allies here in the monastery, and Byleth’s absent heartbeat. Everything he knew, hidden from them since day one, laid bare… The voice at the back of their head- Sothis, a mouthy girl who seemed to at least favor them and theirs- had simpered about feeling like she ought to know something about the situation. Byleth had commiserated with her over the holes left in the bigger picture.

At least, where Rhea was failing to make Byleth feel anything but  _ kind of slimy _ , plenty of her underlings were managing to make them feel at least a little secure. Alois and Shamir’s clear connection and loyalty to Jeralt before the Church was reassuring. Shamir, a past member of their very own troupe planted here in Garegg Mach to divert the search for Byleth, was vaguely familiar once they were reminded of who she was. Alois had been Jeralt’s page here in the monastery, and his grief over them being found and forced here had been enough for Byleth to trust him.

Seteth was… Complicated. He was clearly against Byleth being here at all, and Byleth could only tell it wasn’t out of malice from the forlorn light to his gaze on them. They’d have to ask their father about that later.

At current, they feel the urge to frown for the first time in months when Rhea proposes Byleth enter an apprenticeship under the Archbishop herself as her successor.

_ ‘Is this woman out of her mind?!’ _ Sothis shrieks in the stunned silence following the woman’s bold proposal,  _ ‘even if she’s obsessed with you, that idea is… It’s madness!’ _

“With all due respect, Lady Rhea,” Seteth sputters, “we hardly know this character! Regardless of their parentage, I would advise strongly against handing such an important role over to the hands of one with such little traceable history. Especially when there is a very recently lifted order from Fearghus barring them from working in their lands.”

_ ‘Thank you!’ _ Sothis huffs, her relief over a voice of reason being present washing over Byleth and easing some of the tension from their shoulders and jaw.

Shamir hums in agreeance, “my intel says they also hardly know of the Church, much less its teachings. They should be eased into something like that, at least.”

Byleth’s hackles nearly raise their shoulders up to their ears when Rhea waves off the concern, “ease your minds and hearts, I am certain that fate has brought this very special child to us.” She smiles, and while it’s surely meant to be serene and comforting, it makes Byleth’s skin crawl, “I will be teaching them everything they need to know myself.”

Jeralt’s leather gloves creak behind his back from how hard he clenches his fists. Byleth feels like all the snow back in Fraldarius has been magically summoned here and dumped down their back.

Alois makes the air in the room breathable again when he speaks up, “I think there may be a favorable compromise for everyone’s wants and concerns, if I may, Your Eminence?”

“Speak your mind, Alois,” Rhea nods, and the motion is too fluid. She doesn’t look away from Byleth to address him. Sothis makes a disgusted noise.

He clears his throat, awkward, “the officer’s academy is in need of a professor, and while Shamir is very capable, she already has her own personal apprentice in Cyril. Perhaps to ease Byleth here into the Church, its teachings, and to garner trust among our ranks, they could be put in charge of one of the Houses?”

Rhea frowns, and it’s a slight thing, but it makes Byleth’s hair prickle in the ponytail they’ve taken to shoving it into.

“That seems very reasonable to me,” Seteth nods, cutting in to diffuse Rhea’s anger, “I believe that that is our best choice in this matter. Provided Shamir is amicable.”

Shamir shrugs, “sure. I’d rather keep my current position, anyways.”

There’s a heavy silence for a long moment, then Rhea inclines her head, “very well. I would not want to overwhelm our dear child, or upset the clergy.”

Byleth can hear their father breathe out, slow and steady.

A damn ballista bolt dodged.

\---

Byleth is glad to be out of Rhea’s presence when the meeting finally breaks. The Archbishop had insisted on introducing them to the other professors- Hanneman, Manuela, Jeritza- and lingering while they received a crash course on the year ahead. Jeralt is urged to reacquaint himself with his duties as Captain of the Knights of Seiros, which Seteth and Alois are forced along with him for. Byleth’s only sense of security lies in Shamir, stood beside Rhea at a respectful distance.

Sothis is prickly in the back of their mind. Her attention keeps pulling Byleth away from the conversation with their new peers to Rhea and her heavy gaze. They count their lucky stars that only Jeritza seems to be irked by them asking for things to be repeated so much.

_ ‘Funny,’ _ Sothis says when they are finally given ample excuse to leave the audience chamber and the Archbishop’s presence, her tone not at all amused,  _ ‘that the place of your birth could not feel less like a home.’ _

Byleth sighs inwardly. At least part of their debriefing had included the class rosters. Felix is here, on top of Essen- no, Claude. Claude is his name here. They still need to drill that into their head- and Dimitri being house leaders. Not to mention Sylvain and Dedue, who Byleth remembers vaguely from the brief visit on Sylvain’s part, and Felix’s letters to Claude mentioning Dedue. And Shamir, they kind of remember from their early teenage years as their troupe’s sniper. Not to mention that Jeralt seems to trust Alois and Seteth.

_ ‘Yes, we are not alone,’ _ Sothis hums,  _ ‘never forget that… Especially while we still do not know the extent of what we are up against.’ _

They know. They’re barely paying attention as Manuela chatters about the monastery while she leads them down to the classrooms, pondering who they should be especially cautious of here.

They know.

\---

Byleth will admit when they’ve been surprised. They’d figured that Felix would be waiting at the first place they’d show themselves to students, but he wasn’t in the Academy courtyard, the Blue Lions classroom, the mess hall, or even the training grounds. When Manuela leaves them at the door to their new living quarters, claiming to want to give them a break after such a deluge of information, they welcome the break. They have a lot to think about. Not among the list is having their lock picked before they even get to see their room and having four people waiting for them. It probably should have been, considering their friends consist of stubborn young men who’ve made a point of learning how to get what they need in life.

As soon as the door is shut behind them, they’re accosted in a hug. They jump, nearly yelp, but the head of dark blue hair is familiar. Sothis coos over bittersweet reunions, but it’s background noise. Just like Claude, Dimitri, and Dedue (or, at least, they figure the young Duscur man is Dedue) are vague shapes in their periphery for the moment.

“Felix,” they relax, putting their arms around him, “I was wondering where you’ve been.”

He drags in a shaky breath, “and I’ve been wondering what the hell you’re doing here.”

Oh, darling, protective little brother… Byleth holds him a little tighter, “I don’t have a choice. But we’ll figure it all out.” They shift and push him away a little, holding his shoulders, “breathe. I’ve got you, and father, and his allies.”

Felix stares at them, intense and still upset, but he nods, and the rest of the world comes back into focus with Byleth’s concern for his stress levels abated for the moment. “Here, I’m not the only one who wants to speak with you.”

Byleth feels a small smile spread across their face, easier than it’s been since leaving Derdriu. After a moment of deliberation and a nod to the side from Claude, they look to Dimitri, “Your Highness, you’ve grown well since we last saw one another. And I finally get to meet your vassal, yes?”

The prince clears his throat, “ah, yes, I had forgotten you never got to meet Dedue…”

The air is awkward for a moment before Dedue steps forward with a polite bow, “I have heard much from Felix and Dimitri of your character and deeds. I would like to thank you for looking after him on the missions I was barred from.”

Byleth nods and bows back in equal respect, “I’ve heard a lot about you from Felix as well. The pleasure is mine.”

Dedue smiles a little at that, “I look forward to learning from you.”

Ah, right. The House Leaders had been told about them, and Dimitri must have told Dedue.

Dimitri steps forward, stiff, as soon as Dedue backs away from their introduction, “ah, I was hoping… I wished to apologize for what happened on our mission. Especially for what happened after. You should not have taken the fall for my…” he glances over to Claude, takes a deep breath, “for what I did. It wasn’t fair to you in any way, and if there is anything I can do to make up for such a poor mark on your character and reputation, please do not hesitate to ask.”

Byleth can feel the prince’s guilt in the air, palpable, “you… That wasn’t your fault. I don’t hold the actions of the Fearghus court against you, Prince Dimitri. I don’t care about my reputation.”

Dimitri frowns, “I would implore you to.”

That makes Claude laugh, “oh, your princeliness, don’t waste your breath. By’s got a cozy teaching job regardless of that whole thing. Right, Felix?”

“Yeah,” Felix snorts, “I told you they didn’t hold any of that against you.”

Dimitri sighs, long-suffering. He must have been bearing the brunt of Felix and Claude’s dynamic since they all arrived here. Dedue has that smile on his face again.

“Hey,” Byleth decides to rescue him, “where’s my Claude hug?”

Claude’s grin softens around the edges, and it says a few things about his opinions of Dimitri and Dedue that he does hug them, even if he does tease, “aww, miss me?”

They roll their eyes and squeeze him like they did with Felix, “of course I did.”

Maybe things will be okay.

\---

_ ‘You dismissed your worries far too soon,’ _ Sothis points out, dry.

Byleth almost groans aloud. How are they supposed to choose a House? And figure out how to teach a class in the first week? Prepare a bunch of teenagers for a mock battle?

“Aww,” Claude coos, patting their back as they eyeball the class lists and his notes on each member of each house, “I’m flattered that I even contend against the class that has your little brother.”

Byleth puts their head on the library table. Said little brother would be a great help about now, but he’s currently beating his anxieties over Byleth out on Dimitri. Who is beating his lingering anxiety over Byleth’s imagined resentment towards him on Felix. While Dedue supervises, like the saint he is. So they can’t ask him for his cut-and-dry advice. They’re itching to see their father, too- they want to ask about Seteth and Alois.

“Ugh,” Byleth grunts, “I don’t want to play favorites, so maybe I should go with the Eagles?” They sit up again and tap a finger on Edelgard’s name, “but she seemed a little too interested in me when she gave the time of day for comfort.” Claude hums to indicate he’s listening, “and her retainer, or whatever he is, he creeps me out. But then in your House,” they point to Leonie’s name, “she declared a rivalry against me for my own father’s attention.”

Claude laughs, “right, I forgot. Yeah, Leonie’s a hothead. I’m sure she’s fairly benign with that, though. Knowing you, she’ll be your sister by the end of next month.”

Byleth elbows him and he laughs, “hush. The Lions aren’t perfect, either. Ingrid will be tough to deal with, seeing as she seems to have something out for Felix, and you said she lectured you for yawning this morning?” They shuffle the papers together, “but it really comes down to the choice between keeping my promise to you or my promise to Felix through this whole mess.”

Claude touches their arm, and they look over to him. He looks a bit grim, “don’t worry too much about that. Whatever happens and whatever you decide, we’ll figure out a way for you to keep both promises. Worry about yourself for now, By.”

Byleth sighs and offers him a tiny smile, “is this your way of telling me to pick the House I’ll be safest teaching?”

Claude just winks, “sure is.” He stands, stretches, “I’m gonna go find Petra. She’s still a bit of a mystery, and she seemed nice on the first day.”

Byleth knows he’s just trying to remove pressure from their decision, but they let him go, take one glance at the notes, and decide to put them away, for now. If it’s a question of safety- and therefore distance from parties with a weird interest in them- then the choice is a bit clearer. Edelgard and Dimitri appear to have some kind of tension between them. Choosing the Lions would make Byleth more of a target for her, while choosing the Eagles would put them too close to her for comfort.

Deer it is. Felix won’t mind. They can see about join lessons between Houses and train with him, anyways.

\---

“Oh!” When Byleth gets the chance to explore the offices, they meet a girl with hair as green as Seteth’s, “you must be the new professor!”

Byleth blinks as she wipes her hands of whatever she was doing at her little desk in the corner of the infirmary and practically bounces up to them in her excitement, “yes.”

She bows politely and then sticks her hand out to shake, “I’m Flayn! Seteth’s little sister and apprentice physician to Manuela!”

They bow back and shake her tiny hand, “Byleth…” Seteth’s sister? He’s still a mysterious figure… This could be an opportunity, “has he told you much about the goings-on?”

She pouts, “he hasn’t had much time. I believe he has been around your father, mostly. They seem to be rather close.”

Byleth files that away for later, “I see. What are you working on in here?”

Flayn perks up and leads them over to her station, talking about a new pain remedy she’s mixing up. They should get her and Claude in the same room, they think. Preferably this one, where they can talk about mixing herbs and such together. It all goes over their head, but they’d always liked listening to Claude talk about it back in that sunroom. Regardless, they nod and hum along to Flayn’s explanations of plants and their uses and how they work together.

They don’t know how she got them to pull up a chair and idly work a mortar and pestle while she asks them for tales of their adventures as a mercenary, but it’s how Seteth and Jeralt find them.

“You owe me a drink,” Jeralt announces as soon as they step into the room, “I told you they’d end up like this.”

Seteth sighs heavily, “fine, fine. Flayn, I see you have already acquainted yourself with the new professor.”

“They’re helping!” Flayn informs him brightly, “is there something you needed?”

“I simply wished to come and see you, since I have not had much time as of late. And Jeralt desired a word with his child,” Seteth informs them, taking the mortar and pestle from Byleth absently, like they’re familiar with each other. It makes Sothis bristle a bit, but Byleth shrugs it off as him doting on Flayn.

Jeralt takes them to his new-old office. He looks… Tired. Worn down. Old, almost. Byleth hugs him once the door is closed. They’ve never been too tactile as a family, but it’s never been discouraged.

“Hey, kid,” Jeralt holds them in return, voice rough from use, “how’s your brother and the princes?”

“Worried,” they tell him, “but managing. How are you?” They pull back and playfully punch at his chest, “and don’t lie. Or think that I don’t want to know exactly who Seteth and Alois are. And a girl named Leonie told me you saved her village and taught her some lance skills, then declared herself my rival.”

Jeralt laughs, “alright, alright. Have a seat, I’ll talk.”

Jeralt is tired. And worried. He, at least, knows that it’s only the cardinals and a select squadron of knights who are in on this whole “New Saint” business with Rhea. So the Clergy at large are safe, at least. As well as the students. Byleth tells him to put Edelgard on his radar, not as part of Rhea’s plans for them, but as another interested party. He frowns at that, but accepts it.

Seteth and Alois… Old friends. They helped him run from Rhea when Byleth was a baby. Jeralt gets this nostalgic look on his face when he talks about how Alois was once his page, his true first apprentice. He and Seteth are both family men. Seteth, he says, looking fond as he tells him that Seteth had set the cathedral on fire for them. Byleth files that away for later, too. He’s only ever looked like that when he’s spoken of mother.

_ ‘On the topic of your mother…’ _ Sothis chimes in, curious,  _ ‘was she not buried here at the monastery?’ _

That’s something worth looking into. Something not life-or-death, “dad?”

Jeralt straightens a little. He’s used to being called by his name, or just “father”, “yeah, Byleth?”

“Do you think we could go see my mother’s grave sometime?” they ask, “you don’t have to show me until you’re ready, but…”

Jeralt smiles, a little sad around the edges, “yeah. Of course I’ll take you to meet her. She’ll like that.”

Byleth will like it, too.

\---

What Byleth doesn’t like is standing in front of a room of young adults, having stayed up late to put together a lesson plan, and… Blank.

Oh, for fuckssake. They cannot fucking do this. They’d even gotten a rare pep talk from their father for this. And Claude even gave them a thumbs-up before they’d stood to start speaking! They can feel their face heating up with embarrassment. This shouldn’t be this hard. They’ve led the mercenaries on assignments before. Simon had told them he was sure they’d do well. What are they gonna tell him later? That they choked at the moment of truth?

Sothis is cackling. That seems to be what’s going to happen.

Dammit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: fantasy-moron (I have [writing requests open!](https://fantasy-moron.tumblr.com/) drop something in my inbox or even in the chapter comments!!)  
> chapter title playlist: [HERE](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLBZHxoqQQl6Jqgo2WuHj1GwTiCwcGJGtD)
> 
> I still love to read all your comments. i try to reply to them all as much as I can!
> 
> Life stuff: I know I said was was doing mostly okay but evidently March has kicked my entire ass! my actual computer's officially fucked (I'm writing this on a shitty little laptop right now. I love you shitty little laptop. never change) and I won't be able to get a new one up and running until we're out of crisis mode on my end and I can start gathering parts to build a new rig. I was laid off from my job that I really liked which Sucks but seeing as I still live with my parent, I'm financially able to survive. March has a bunch of garbage trauma anniversaries for me so I've just been in a State the whole month, but I'm back in a space where I can write, so! yay
> 
> ok sad shit over I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! I missed writing Byleth a lot ;u;


	11. Absolutely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix finds himself settling rather comfortably into Academy life in spite of everything happening below the surface. Even as more and more problems seem to bubble up, he finds himself just content to have all his loved-ones close. Now, if only one of those loved-ones could stop testing his patience with the topic of his dead brother and the harassment of not only himself, but the other people in his life.  
> \---  
>  _A sky above and sky below_  
>  One last choice to make now:  
> Which way to go?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long! I've been having a rough time of things, and this chapter turned out to be kind of huge? h. take it I can't fuck with this chapter anymore my brain is scrambled eggs
> 
> Time for academic foolery and intrigue y'all! Also yes, I have a list of students that will be "recruited", so to speak, but it's not going to be like in the game, and the Deer aren't necessarily the core of it (Claude trying to conduct subterfuge against the church and all) so look out for that I guess? Sorry to make this story more convoluted kjbdfjf fuck
> 
> [I drew Byleth for this fic!](https://fantasy-moron.tumblr.com/post/615415727001944064/tosses-my-nonbinary-byleth-design-on-the-pile) Please look at them I actually like how they turned out ;u;
> 
> Title and lyrics from Ra Ra Riot!
> 
> As always, thank you all very much for the comments and kudos! Your support means a lot to me <3!

If nothing else, knowing how to get what he wants by “using his words”- as Claude would call it- is useful. He’d kissed ass upon returning “home” (and, really, anywhere he could keep in touch with the people he cares about without having to jump through his father’s hoops asinine was home to him) and gotten a spot beside Dimitri and Dedue.

Now, while he knew Ashe was a capable archer and probably had about the same level of experience he had from his days on the streets, he’d expressed his worry over having two people wielding bows and no swordsmen. It would be better not only in a mock battle, but a real one, to have a diverse roster of skills in their team. He had also offered up his knowledge of Byleth and Claude’s tactics. Just because they were close, didn’t mean he didn’t want to beat them into the ground.

So Ashe, in all his sweet nature, had relinquished his spot to Felix willingly. Felix had offered him a favor in return, because… Well, if he’s honest, he likes the kid (and he feels a bit bad for taking his spot). His idyllic outlook is on chivalry and other such nonsense aside. Maybe he’d get him in the kitchen with Dedue, he’d seen him signing up to cook a few times.

As of now, though… Well, he has plans. Rumor has it that Claude is quite the schemer, but Felix knew he’d been raised as a warrior and a scholar back in Almyra, and had known tactics before most Fearghus children were even writing. As such, while Felix was sure he was no-where near where his friend was on such things, he did have knowledge of Claude himself. How he usually thought and approached things.

“He’s going to play into the rumor mill,” he tells Dimitri, “goad us into playing into his hands.” He shifts his token on the map to swap it with Dimitri’s, placing him just behind Dedue, “leave him to me, I’m used to his antics.”

And that’s how he finds himself having a childish verbal slap-fight with Claude in the copse of trees just south-west of where Hanneman was holding their “fort”.

“Aw,” Claude coos, smiling faux-sweetly as they circle one another. Claude with his blunted arrow aimed at Felix, Felix poised to dodge or charge at any tell, “I’m so flattered, Fe. You know, if you miss me so bad all the time, you should join the Golden Deer!”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Felix rolls his eyes, “if I’ve missed anything about you, it was beating you into the dirt while training.”

Claude laughs at him, the jerk, “we remember things a bit differently.”

Okay, so Claude had been beating him in axe skills. But Felix had still had the upper hand when there was a sword in his hands.

He tilts his head and smirks, “who says I’m not talking about my track record with a sword?”

“Oh!” Claude chirps, “you mean all the times you’ve lost to Teach?”

“No, you moron-” Felix growls, vaguely aware that he was losing at this too-familiar game.

Shockingly, Edelgard saves him the embarrassment, “I was rather curious as to how the three of you knew one another.”

“That, Princess,” Claude says, his voice lilting in a little sing-song manner, “is information you’ll have to win.”

“Then I will,” she declares, and Felix can’t help but think she sounds as arrogant as the insufferable council nobles that King Regent Rufus surrounds himself with.

He glances to Claude, who inclines his head just a tick, and their banter from before, and the mock battle, are forgotten.

Felix intercepts Edelgard’s swing for Claude, the archer jumping back and to the side a little. While he gets distance and good line of sight, Felix twists his blade out of the lock and lunges for the princess’s side. He misses, making his lip curl and his blood heat a bit with annoyance and anticipation. As much as he doesn’t want to lose to her, whether for the bet or the mock battle, he’s also pleasantly surprised that she’s faster than she looks. A challenge is still a challenge, after all.

It’s still a two-on-one fight, though (and if Hubert hadn’t been engaged with Hilda before, Felix would worry about where he was in all this). One that Felix and CLaude have double the advantage in, being familiar with one another’s fighting styles and able to work together well. Claude follows up Felix’s whiffed lunge with a well-aimed arrow to Edelgard’s knee, quickly following up with another shot to make her dodge into Felix’s next swing, which connects with her ribs solidly. It’s satisfying to hear the breath leave her lungs.

She backs off, defeated, with a calculating look over the two of them as they still stand ready, “perhaps another time, then.” She tilts a smile at them, “it would seem your prior experience with our new Teacher has lent you two some skill.”

“No chance, creep,” Felix grumbles under his breath as she departs, turning to Claude to tease him back into the fight they were just having-

Only he gets mowed over by Byleth, buckling from a sharp blow to the backs of his knees, and yelping in pain from a smack of their wooden sword to his back.

Claude is howling in laughter.

Felix is going to over-salt his dinner tonight.

\---

Felix is also going to punch Sylvain in the face.

“Soooo…” the redhead bats his eyelashes at Felix, blocking him from leaving their classroom after the post-battle debrief from Hanneman, “you seem to have a thing with the Deer’s professor and house leader, huh?”

“We’re friends,” Felix rolls his eyes and shoves at Sylvain to move, only to have him follow him out the door anyways, “you met Byleth before, and when we were travelling, we met Claude.”

“Ugh,” Felix turns his head to see Ingrid practically stomping up to them from down the walkway, “Claude! I don’t know how you stand him!”

Felix cuts his gaze back to Sylvain, who looks about as confused as he feels as he responds, “I mean, he doesn’t seem so bad to me.”

“You,” Ingrid shoves her way into the space between them, gesturing in frustration, “didn’t just catch him slacking off after winning the mock battle!”

“To be fair, Ingrid,” Sylvain says in the tone that means he’s trying to laugh whatever she’s on about off, “your standards are pretty high- OUCH! I didn’t mean it that way!”

Ingrid huffs while Sylvain rubs his arm where she’d punched him, “he was yawning like a cat while his Professor was talking to him. I couldn’t stand how arrogant it was and told him off for wasting their time like that when they left.”

Felix stops dead and glares at her when the other two do so as well a step ahead, “you got on his case for being tired after a battle? Are you serious?” He crosses his arms, “you’d think him being a friend of mine would be indicative of his character to you.”

“Well, if you’re implying he probably left his childhood friends behind to run around Goddess-knows-where with a mercenary that had a criminal charge against them, then sure.”

“Ingrid,” Sylvain says, placating, moving to stand between them, but she puts her arm out to keep her eyes on Felix.

Felix, who is completely blindsided by this whole conversation so far, “are you accusing me of abandoning you?” He can feel his lip curl back in a snarl, “after I’ve been just-short of physically attached to Dimitri since I returned? Writing Sylvain regularly?”

Ingrid rolls her eyes, “you didn’t write me much. What, do you think girls still have cooties, or something?”

He cannot believe he’s having this fucking argument, “of course not! Did you consider that, perhaps, I didn’t want to keep receiving letters about my dead brother after the second time you filled two pages just talking about how much you’re grieving over him?”

“Come on, guys,” Sylvain says from the sidelines, but Felix has tunnel vision, he’s so angry.

“Well at least I’m grieving him!” Ingrid shouts, “instead of dragging his prince’s nme through the mud for years and then disappearing for months at a time! UNLIKE YOU!”

“My friends,” Dimitri’s voice cuts through the haze of Felix’s mounting anger, “what seems to be the problem? Why are we fighting in the walkway when we should be eating lunch?”

Felix turns his entire body away from Ingrid to watch Dimitri jog up to them instead, “I don’t even know at this point. I’m done with this. Ask Ingrid.”

“Real mature, Felix,” Ingrid’s tone is disgusted. Felix resists the urge to turn around and respond. “Your Highness, please, he’s just being insensitive, as usual.”

Sylvain cuts in, probably expecting Felix to bite her head off, “the topic of Glenn got brought up. Maybe we should just… Avoid it in the future?”

Felix watches Dimitri’s face draw a bit at the mention of the dearly departed, “I don’t think we need to go that far, but how about we all come to a mutual agreement on the subject once our heads are cool.” He cuts his gaze to meet Felix’s, “is that agreeable?”

Felix grunts, “do whatever you want. And eat without me, I’m not hungry.”

He makes it down the corridor a fair length until Dimitri starts following him, and he’s about to round the corner, determined to not have this particular chat with Dimitri while he’s this upset about it, when a hand grabs his arm.

He nearly punches Claude in the face, but pulls it at the last second, dropping his hand harmlessly at his side, glaring at him in a demand to know what he could possibly want at this very moment.

Claude’s gaze flicks over his shoulder, likely looking at and talking to Dimitri rather than Felix, though his hold on his arm is firm, “I was hoping to borrow you for some axe training. Wanna blow off some steam?”

Felix just nods, sharp, and allows Claude to swing an arm around his shoulders and drag him away.

His food is safe for the evening.

\---

Byleth comes to end their last match with a pointed look and crossed arms, “as your Professor, i can’t let you skip two meals. Go eat.” They gesture to the exit from the training grounds with one hand, and hold the other out for their weapons.

Felix readily hands his over and nods when they arch an eyebrow at him. He’ll talk about whatever they’ve heard about his argument with Ingrid now that Claude’s given him enough bruises to turn an apple into mush.

Claude parts ways with him in the dining hall with a passing hand on his elbow, and he feels any anger left over from that afternoon leave him.

He arrives at Byleth’s room feeling worn out, and when they ask about his “shouting match”, he lays it out for them. It’s a testament to how tired he is and how much Byleth has helped him in the past years that he only gets nominally frustrated during his retelling.

Byleth hums when he’s done, an acknowledgement of his words and a beg for time to think. Felix shoves a spoonful of spicy vegetable soup into his mouth.

“How about,” they say after a moment of contemplative silence, “you help my class with our assignment this month?” They hold up a hand when he opens his mouth to ask why, “just to give you and Ingrid some space. Also, Ignatz will learn the bow better from Hanneman, so I was thinking of trading the two of you for a few lessons, anyways.” They lower their voice, and Felix leans in to hear them as they speak in Almyran, “plus, my class is going after the bandits that attacked the House Leaders on the night I was found by the Church. I want both of us close at hand in case they target Essen.”

Felix nods, responding in Almyran as well before leaning away, “I’ll help.”

Byleth smiles, just a tiny bit, but it feels like a lot after months of not seeing it, and the past weeks of them being nearly as expressionless as when they met. Call him a sap, but he’d missed seeing his sibling emote, “good. Do you want a hug? Just to settle your nerves over your conflict with Ingrid.”

As if he needed them to justify it. He nods, places his empty bowl on their desk, and steps into their space, wrapping his arms around them. He’d missed this, too. Dedue and Dimitri weren’t as keen on physical contact as Byleth and Claude, and Byleth being a walking mountain gave such all-encompassing hugs that it was hard to not feel comforted, even when he was crying or fuming.

Felix doesn’t even mind that he can’t hear their heart at this point.

\---

If he’s being honest, he should have seen this coming from miles away. Hell, even before Byleth asked him to help with this month’s mission.

“I didn’t want to separate you from Dimitri for a whole month,” they’d explained just out of earshot from the combines Deer and Lions classes, “also, Claude wanted to get to know Dedue and Petra better. And… We already missed having Ignatz and Lysithea with the Deer.”

Felix puts his face in his hands. Because of course that’s why all three classes are getting together “once or twice a week to train practical skills together”. Admittedly, it was a good idea. On its own. Sparring against the same four people his whole life definitely left something to be desired in terms of tactical knowledge and being prepared for a real battle against literally anyone else in the world. And those in his class who he wasn’t already overly familiar with didn’t really use close-range weapons. At least, not to his skill level with a sword.

But he has to keep from laughing, because of course what gave Byleth the idea to rope all three Houses together was  _ keeping and creating friendships _ . The stupid sap.

“And besides,” they acquiesce, pulling him out of his inner, fond mockery of them, “I have a job for you that would have been a bit odd otherwise.”

Felix puts his hand on his hip, waiting, and follows their line of focus when they point to one of the Deer. A girl he hasn’t heard a single word from thus far, not even in passing: Marianne. He whips his head around to ask if Byleth has gone off the edge of weird and straight into having lost their mind, but they hold up a hand, so he allows them the chance to explain themselves.

“She wants to learn how to use a sword, and I think it’d be easier on her if she didn’t feel like she was going to directly disappoint me by sparring with her myself,” they sigh, “she really lacks self-confidence, and you’re a peer, not an authority. Can you just… Be gentle with her? Teach her the fundamentals, maybe inspire some spirit or something?”

Felix is almost dead certain he is the wrong person for this task. Petra would be a much better pick for this. But she’s already giving Ashe what seems to be the pep-talk of the century. He takes a deep, steadying breath, “I’ll give it a shot, but you owe me.”

Byleth smiles a little, and he doesn’t even care what they pay him back with. Ugh. Why did he think they were a good influence, again?

It starts out smoothly enough. Felix makes sure she knows how to hold a sword, how to swing it without hurting herself, how to stand defensively and offensively. The bare-bones basics. She’s really not half-bad, already, in spite of her usul down-cast posture.

“You have a decent foundation,” he tells her, because he was asked to be nice, “it’s something you can easily build on.”

“Oh,” she flushes bashfully, “um, thank you…”

He clenches his jaw to keep it shut. Drops into a defensive stance, “come at me, then.”

She’s so flighty and afraid of… Well, he doesn’t  _ know _ , but whatever it is, he’ll kill it just so she’ll stop being the most cowardly offensive fighter he’s ever seen. He’s going to crack one of his teeth out with the effort not to goad her into actually hitting him. As it is, he does his best to encourage her to do more than just tap him lightly or whiff her training weapon by him.

It’s been fifteen minutes of it, though, and he’s beyond done with this. It’s a miracle he doesn’t bite her head off.

“Stop pulling your strikes,” he says, perhaps a bit sharp, but that’s just how he talks, “I’m not made of glass, and these swords are made of wood. You won’t hurt me even if I can’t block your attack.”

Marianne freezes up, her whole body drawing in on itself, “I-I’m sorry, I’m just no good at this sort of thing.”

He heaves a sigh, and she flinches. Fuck. “I’m not mad at you, and you  _ are _ good at what you know already. But you’re not going to make progress like this,” he relaxes his stance and gestures to himself, “which is why I’m asking you to actually fight me.”

She shakes her head and takes a step back from him, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” She bows, hasty and stiff, “thank you very much for your help, but I can’t allow you to waste anymore of your time on me.”

She’s gone before he can even think of responding.

“Ooh,” Felix nearly jumps out of his skin when Hilda sighs from somewhere beside him. Edelgard looks frustrated that she’s been distracted, “yeah, Marianne’s pretty flighty. It’s like she thinks she’ll kill you by breathing too hard or something.”

Felix curses out loud, because the only other person he knows like that is Dimitri. Dimitri, who will throw himself into a horrible, illogical spiral of self-loathing that can make him nervous to touch just about anything. Sometimes it’ll leave him sleepless and hardly even eating for days.

He abandons his training sword and runs after Marianne.

\---

He catches up to her outside the Cathedral, and in an ill-advised move, grabs her arm and hauls her off to one of the usually-empty parapets outside the front doors. She looks horrified, like he’ll kill her, or she’s somehow poisoned him through physical contact.

“Hear me out for a minute,” he pleads, not even caring that he sounds desperate.

Damn his bleeding heart. He can’t leave one sad, lonely person well-enough alone, can he?

She nods, and he lets her go, if only to make her less uncomfortable, “I don’t know who has you convinced of what, exactly, but you’re-” he shakes his head, trying to pick his words wisely. This isn’t Dimitri, he can’t just shove her through the proper mental hoops to get her on tack like he does with his prince “-you’re not a waste of time. Or effort. I- uh-” he feels his face heat up a little, but he forces himself to tell her “-I was having a good time. Helping you with your swordsmanship.”

Marianne looks almost touched until she shakes her head. Her voice is thin and watery when she speaks, “you don’t understand.” She heaves a shaky sigh, “it’s not that I felt bad about wasting your time, specifically, but rather that I know I’m a burden to everyone around me.”

He opens his mouth to refute that, but she screws her eyes shut against tears, and his jaw snaps shut again while she continues to speak, “it’s just better if everyone keeps their distance from me. I’ll only bring you all bad luck and suffering. I’m simply not worth being around, much less helping.” She gives him another bow, “I’m sorry you felt like you had to come after me like this. Please, don’t worry yourself over me. I’ll let you get back to training with everyone else, now.”

\---

Claude finds him sat on the bench not five feet from where she’d left him. He hadn’t wanted to go back to class, feeling all the wind sucked out of his sails, worry eating at him.

It only lessens because Claude tells him that he and Byleth both are keeping an eye out for her. Felix allows himself to be dragged to the dining hall, where he wedges himself between Dimitri and Dedue just to feel a little less like a fish out of water.

He tears a chunk of spiced meat off his skewer and chews.  _ At least, _ he thinks to himself while Annette regails everyone with a breakthrough in her magic studies,  _ I know I can still help Dimitri. _

Marianne isn’t alone. For how flippant Hilda had been about her running off before, she has the healer tucked under one of her arms like a protective mother bird. He catches her eye across the room, and they share an understanding nod. They’ll take care of their respective down-trodden friends. That way, they know those people have someone to lean on.

If he checks on Dimitri before he goes to bed that night, cracking the door open after an evening of pummeling training dummies to find him sound asleep, then that’s his business.

\---

Byleth pairs him with Petra during the next All-House training session. He notes, with no small amount of relief, that Marianne has been assigned to helping Dorothea hone her white magic. He only has a general impression of the Songstress, but she’s being very attentive to every word that comes out of Marianne’s mouth, and he thinks that the gloomy girl looks rather relaxed, for once.

With that in mind, he can put their unfortunate training session in the back of his mind and focus. Which is good, because he’s certain that Petra would be trouncing him otherwise.

They’re both fast, but she’s so much more graceful, and far more apt to use the terrain to her advantage. They both have a style of swordsmanship that combines concepts from outside Fódlan with the ones Felix grew up learning, and that Petra is learning here at the Academy. But Brigid and Almyra are very far apart, and they’re very different from one another. Felix “fights dirty” because he throws his body into his style as an extra weapon, but Petra literally  _ plays dirty _ .

Felix spits dirt out from between his teeth and grins at her, “kicking dust into the enemy’s face. Smart.”

Petra lowers her practice sword once she’s sure he’s disengaged, “I did not get any in your eyes, have I?”

He can’t help but laugh, “no. Even if you did, it’s fine.” He wipes the sweat and grime from his forehead, “it’s refreshing to see a different fighting style.”

She smiles, “I can say the same things over- about you, Felix. You do not use your Kingdom chivalry.”

“I found little use for it,” he shrugs, “when I traveled with Professor Byleth.”

Petra tilts her head to the side, appraising as they both drop back into ready stances, “the Professor is having… Is knowledgeable about more than just Fódlan combat?”

“They are,” he says, and then lunges for her. She isn’t caught off-guard at all, and when their swords lock, he says, “more than me, for sure.”

When they break apart, and they circle one another, he catches her gaze flickering to where Edelgard is struggling against Dedue’s abysmal height advantage over her. He frowns, because hadn’t he heard that she was supposed to be friends? They’re both princesses, and Brigid is a vassal state of Adrestia, and they always seemed to get along, but-

But Edelgard isn’t Dimitri, and Fódlan is not a kind place for foreigners, regardless of their status.

He hates that he’s not imagining the fear in Petra’s eyes when she considers not being glued to Edelgard’s side. He also hates how she keeps looking to Byleth for- whatever it is she wants from them. Every time she lands a hit on Dedue, he can see her look over at them. He can’t imagine how they feel about it; it’s making  _ his _ skin crawl.

\---

Felix isn’t sure how Jeralt, Byleth, and himself have all squeezed themselves onto the same couch, but he can’t say he’s uncomfortable. He’s squished between Jeralt and the arm of the couch, with Byleth on their father’s other side, and Sothis smite him in this very spot if it’s not cozy.

“Now that you two are done fighting over who gets to sit next to your dad,” Claude rolls his eyes, but his tone is fond. Felix is quietly impressed that he’s being even that slightest bit open with Seteth with them all in Jeralt’s office.

“Yes, thank you,” Seteth sighs, “we would do well to get down to business.”

Jeralt grunts, “it’s been about a month. We should have a decent idea of how far the Archbishop’s personal interest in my kid has spread.”

“Not to mention a couple of outliers,” Claude points out.

“Edelgard,” Felix grouses, folding his arms across his chest, “she tried to fight us-” have waves between himself and Claude “-to get us to talk about how we know Byleth. Not to mention how clingy she’s been with them during the All-House training.”

Byleth hums, resting their chin in their hand, crossing their legs, “she has been rather persistent for my advice and attention.” They narrow their eyes at their cup of tea on the low table in front of them, “Hubert has made a point of how much he dislikes it.”

“How so?” Seteth frowns, brows furrowing in concern. It’s a look that Felix is so used to seeing on Jeralt that it’s weird to see it on someone else.

“Oh, nothing too bad,” Byleth shrugs, “serious threats on my life. But-” they hold a hand up when Jeralt takes a breath to tell them that that is, in fact, pretty bad “-I’m not worried about it. He’s too loyal to Edelgard to lay a finger on me as long as she wants to be on my goods side, and I on hers.”

Jeralt sighs, long-suffering, “I wish you would have said that sooner, kid.”

“Didn’t seem important,” they wave the topic away.

Claude catches it deftly, “that’s rich coming from one of my valued retainers.”

“And my kid,” Jeralt follows up.

“And my adoptive sibling,” Felix pitches in.

“As well as our valued Professor,” Seteth deals the finishing blow with an arched brow.

Byleth sighs and throws up their hands, defeated by way of verbal dogpile, “fine. I’ll tell you if it persists or escalates. Happy?”

The four of them nod in tandem.

Seteth reports that it’s mostly the Cardinals, the very top of the Clergy, who seem to have any preoccupation with Byleth. He can’t divulge their identities, but he assures the group that he doesn’t believe they have the whole story from Rhea. The contingency of knights that came with Alois also seem in on the manufactured secret, along with, of course, Rhea’s personal assistants themselves. Minus Cyril, who only seems to be under the impression that Rhea values Byleth deeply, but nothing beyond that.

Jeralt groans over his former romantic rival, Aelfric, asking after Byleth. He’s not sure if he might be a Cardinal fed Rhea’s “New Saint” shtick, or if he’s simply being nosey because he had also been in love with Sitri. Either way, it’s been annoying for him to deal with, and he wishes the other man would just back himself out of his family’s business. Quickly.

Claude supplies his observations of a person about Byleth’s age. Purple hair and eyes, off-the-mark Academy uniform. Seems to be tailing Byleth in the evenings. Byleth says they’ve seen this figure as well, but once again doesn’t feel very threatened. At least, until Claude points out that this mystery person has been speaking with Aelfric.

Felix’s teeth are on edge.

“If someone’s lurking around the monastery in the evening and speaking with the clergy, then Shamir will know a thing or two,” Jeralt says, tense, “I’ll ask her about it.”

“So what are we supposed to do?” Felix asks. He’s itching to take action against any of these people, to get just one person off Byleth’s back, but he knows he’s not in a position to do it.

Jeralt sighs and wraps an arm around Felix and Byleth both, pulling them into his sides in a sort of family-sandwich, “you keep watching each other’s backs and gathering information.  _ Carefully. _ ”

Claude holds his hands up in surrender when Jeralt shoots him a look. The man keeps speaking, “my mercenaries are also on the lookout. For all of you-” this he says with a pointed look to Seteth, who nods and seems to suppress a smile “-and I want Byleth and Felix each taking half of them on the mission at the end of the month. Those bandits in Zanado already tried to kill the royals once. I want experienced men that I trust and are familiar with the enemy with you.”

“I don’t get any?” Claude bats his eyelashes.

“You have knights,” Byleth points out.

“Dad says we get the mercenaries,” Felix says, acting childish on purpose.

“Alright,” Jeralt stands abruptly, nearly tossing Byleth and Felix off the couch in the process, “anything else?”

Seteth smiles while Felix grumbles, righting himself again, “no, I think this has been a very productive…”

“Family meeting?” Byleth supplies, glancing to Claude as if unsure.

“Sounds better than ‘Church Conspiracy Meeting’,” the archer shrugs.

Seteth sputters and Felix snickers. Jeralt groans and tells them all to get out of his office.

\---

“What,” Felix says, getting up into Dimitri’s face, fed up, “is that sad-puppy look for?”

Dimitri flushes, but he doesn’t back up. Unfortunately, Felix already knows him well enough to tell he’s lying even if he holds his ground, “nothing of importance, Felix.”

He rolls his eyes and backs away, “you’re a terrible liar.”

That makes his prince smile, wry, “where you’re concerned, I suppose so, yes.” He sighs, “I assure you it is nothing to worry over. Just…”

Felix crosses his arms, impatient, when he purses his lips. He stares loudly until the blonde speaks, “be careful.”

Felix can’t help the way he smirks and reaches out, squeezing the prince’s elbow, “I will. Don’t lose too much sleep over my safety, or I’ll tattle to Manuela.”

Dimitri winces, coughs, “yes, well- We have a deal.”

Felix turns to where the Deer (Minus Ignatz and Lysithea, plus Dorothea) have gathered by the front gates. He feels his face flush as he realizes they’re all waiting on him to say goodbye to his House Leader. Claude doesn’t say anything, thank Sothis, but he does have a grin on his face, and he does make a point to wave to Dimitri once he’s got Felix in something uncomfortably close to a headlock.

Jerk.

\---

Unsurprisingly, but annoyingly, the bandits target Byleth and Claude. They toss around the Demon title and call Claude a “noble brat”. Felix would laugh about how stereotypically villainous they’re being if he wasn’t so busy keeping himself between them and Claude so he has the distance he needs to shoot them in their stupid faces.

The two of them have split off with Dorothea to execute a pincer attack from the west on Byleth’s order. Dorothea’s sword trembles in her hands when she takes an enemy life, and Felix keeps her in his periphery from then on. He may not be cut out for comforting anyone but Dimitri, Byleth, or Claude, but he could at least keep her from getting herself injured or killed while she comes to terms with the concept of killing.

When the fight is over- and really, it hadn’t lasted very long at all- he stands on alert close to where Claude has draped his coat over Dorothea’s shoulders while she sniffles and vomits out her thoughts. Claude himself is hugging Raphael while the big guy shakes like a leaf. Hilda and Marianne are leaning against one another. Leonie has busied herself with helping the knights cleaning up the aftermath.

Felix is watching Byleth watch them, because he can see that they’re not actually watching them. Their lips keep moving silently, and their gaze is far away. He’s reminded of the weeks of travel on their return to Fódlan, and it turns his stomach over. He’s reminded of how Claude is still a target for one reason or another wherever he may go.

His grip on the hilt of his sword tightens, his knuckles going white. He needs to  _ keep them safe- _

“-an’ if you tell anyone about this, Felix,” Dorothea’s watery voice breaks through his thoughts, making him jump and turn to face her with her red eyes and runny nose, “I’ll skin you alive. So forget this ever happened, got it?”

Felix nods, caught off-guard, “tell anyone about what?”

She laughs, strained and weak, “exactly.”

His grip relaxes a little and he offers her the handkerchief his upbringing insists he carry about at all times. She blows her nose and dabs her face dry. He turns a blind eye when she pockets it. He doesn’t care to have it back.

\---

He finds Dedue in the kitchen after a little chore-schedule digging. He’s about ready to boil over, and he knows only one person other than Byleth- who is busy reporting to Rhea- or Claude- who is busy with his Deer- who can set him straight when he gets like this.

The axe wielder glances his way and heaves a sigh when he catches his eye, “Ingrid?”

Felix groans in the aggravated affirmative, “I had to walk away from her mid-lecture because I was going to ask her to fight me like we’re children again.”

Dedue’s lips quirk like he finds that funny, “I would not tell anyone if you did.”

“Not even Dimitri?” he challenges mostly as a joke.

Dedue answers seriously, “not even him.”

Felix straightens a bit, “what did she do to you?”

Dedue sighs again and recounts his own run-in with Ingrid as he washes vegetables for the dish he’s making. Apparently, on their mission, she’d nearly gotten caught unawares, and he had moved to protect her. After the fact, she had caught him out of earshot from the others and chewed him out for it. Something about her not being a damsel being a cover for her mistrust of the Duscur people. Nevermind that Duscur hadn’t had a hand in the Tragedy, nevermind that Dedue was loyal to their prince, and nevermind that he was simply long-since proven to be a good and caring person.

“That’s it,” Felix pulls away from where he’s been leaning against the counter to listen, “I’m going to convince Dimitri to talk sense into her. She’s been doing this kind of shit to Claude, too. I’m not just going to sit by and let this keep happening.”

Dedue reaches to Felix’s arm, and it stops him in his tracks, since he really isn’t the most tactile person. Not like Byleth or Claude are. Dedue has one of his rare smiles on, “as much as your want to defend myself and Claude warms me, you should go into such a conversation calm.” He hands Felix a knife and nods to the vegetables before retracting his hold on him, “help me make His Highness something to eat while we both order our thoughts.”

Felix is pretty sure that Dedue would qualify for Sainthood if he cared for the teachings of Seiros. Or… Did the Duscur people’s spiritual beliefs have Saintly figures? He would have to ask if they do, and if he can nominate him for such a thing.

He really does need to get Ashe to cook with Dedue. He finds himself calm when they’re done, and his food is always amazing. The little archer is a nervous type, and Felix knows that Dedue could inspire some calm in him for sure. Besides, they’d get along, he thinks. Dedue could benefit from having more friends, even if he does have a habit of pushing most people away on account of other people’s unwarranted distaste for him and his people. Ashe won’t care about that.

That settles it, he’s going to meddle. Just a little bit. Make some passing comments, maybe even make some underhanded arrangements.

He’d like to see Dedue smile more.

\---

“-and if she doesn’t stop implying I don’t care about you, or Sylvain, or her,” Felix waves his spoon around angrily, “or if I see her lighting into Dedue or Claude with my own two eyes, I’m going to disappoint everyone when I give her a black eye.”

Dimitri looks a little nervous, “y-yes, Felix- I’ll talk to her about her behavior towards all three of you.” He smiles a little, “you’re right. Her treatment of you, and especially of Dedue and Claude, is unfair.” He nods, decisive, “I will do my best as House Leader to resolve this issue peacefully before it can continue or escalate.”

“Also,” Dedue says from Dimitri’s other side, “I do not wish for you to fight my battles, Felix.”

Felix blinks, “are you saying you want to throw the first punch?”

Dedue shakes his head, “I’m saying that I don’t want you to start a fight over others mistreating me over my race. I imagine Claude would say the same.” He smiles a little, “but I would not be averse to you supporting one of us if any altercation over such a thing came to blows.”

That makes sense. Felix nods, “fine by me.”

So long as he can watch their backs, he’s happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this was worth the wait! I'll cherish any comment left and don't hesitate to write me a small essay I love reading those jkskbdkjdf  
> Yes, this reads more like a highschool AU than a fantasy academy. But consider: most of them are teenagers and no one is cool or handles things "like an adult" when they're 17 and just FULL of trauma. I just hope the dramatics aren't poorly executed on my part.
> 
> I know I'm essentially retconning Felix, but I just can't justify doing that with Ingrid as well when she's not a main focus. So her dedication to chivalry and the chip on her shoulder over Glenn and the Tragedy is definitely going to be a Thing. That I kind of exaggerate. Because otherwise this story is going to sorely lack small-scale, low-stakes conflict. So sorry to Ingrid fans but she's gonna end up being her own worst enemy here :(
> 
> \---  
> Just to keep things straight around here...  
> A list of current people who're a Little Too Interested in Byleth:  
> \- Rhea  
> \- High-level clergy (especially Aelfric)  
> \- A certain squadron of npc knights  
> \- Edelgard (+Hubert by extension)  
> \- And this Totally Mysterious Purple Guy Who We Don't Know The Identity Of Yet At All (Shhhhh)
> 
> A list of current trusted parties:  
> (not indicative of who is in on what secrets, just people marked as "friend" or "protected")  
> \- Byleth  
> \- Claude  
> \- Felix  
> \- Dimitri  
> \- Dedue  
> \- Jeralt  
> \- The Mercenaries  
> \- Shamir  
> \- Seteth (+ Flayn by extension but she's not Involved yet)  
> \---  
> [My blog for chapter/life updates and general tomfoolery](https://fantasy-moron.tumblr.com)  
> [Chapter Title Playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLBZHxoqQQl6Jqgo2WuHj1GwTiCwcGJGtD)


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